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THE  NEW  NORTH 


THE    NEW   NORTH 

Being-  Some  Account  of  a  Woman's 

Journey  through  Canada 

to  the  Arctic 


BY 


AGNES   DEANS   CAMERON 


WITH  MANY  ILLUSTRATIONS  FROM  PHOTOGRAPHS 
BY  THE  AUTHOR 


NEW     YORK     AND     LONDON 
D.     APPLE TON     AND     COMPANY 

1910 


COPYRIGHT,  1909,  BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Published  Xovftnber,  1909 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 
MY  MOTHER 

JESSIE  ANDERSON  CAMERON 

AND 

TO  ALL  TH  OSfi 

WHO  TRY  TO  LIVE  OUT  t*E&  SIMPLE  RULE 

"  WE  MUST  JUST  TRY  TO  DO  THE 

VERY  BEST  WE  CAN  " 


211706 


PREFACE 

It  is  customary  to  write  a  preface.  Mine  shall  be  short. 
Out  of  a  full  heart,  I  wish  to  thank  all  the  splendid  people 
of  the  North  who,  by  giving  me  so  freely  information 
and  photographs,  and  chapters  out  of  their  own  lives,  have 
facilitated  the  writing  of  this  story.  For  their  spon- 
taneous kindness  to  me  and  mine  no  acknowledgment  that 
I  can  here  make  is  adequate.  What  we  feel  most  strongly 
we  cannot  put  into  words. 

AGNES  DEANS  CAMERON. 
August,  1909. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  I 

THE    MENDICANTS    REACH    WINNIPEG 

The  Mendicants  leave  Chicago — The  invisible  parallel  of  49 
where  the  eagle  perches  and  makes  amorous  eyes  at  the 
beaver — Union  Jack  floats  on  an  ox-cart — A  holy  baggage- 
room — Winnipeg,  the  Buckle  of  the  Wheat-Belt — The  trap- 
per and  the  doctor — Mrs.  Humphry  Ward  speaks — Boy 
Makers  of  Empire — The  vespers  of  St.  Boniface  ....  1-18 

CHAPTER  II 

WINNIPEG    TO    ATHABASCA    LANDING 

The  i,ooo-mile  wheat-field — Calgary-in-the-Foothills — Edmon- 
ton, the  end  of  steel — The  Brains  of  a  Trans-Continental — 
Browning  on  the  Saskatchewan — East  Londoners  in  tents 
— Our  outfit — A  Waldorf-Astoria  in  the  wilderness — The 
lonely  cross  of  the  Galician — Height  of  Land — Sergeant 
Anderson,  R.  N.  W.  M.  P.,  the  sleuth  of  Lesser  Slave  .  .  19-32 

CHAPTER  III 

ATHABASCA    LANDING 

Athabasca  Landing,  the  Gateway  of  the  North — English  gives 
place  to  Cree — Limit  of  the  Dry  Martini — Will  the  rabbits 
run? — The  woman  printer — Hymn-books  by  hand  in  the 
Cree  syllabic — Baseball  even  here — Rain  and  reminiscences 
—The  World's  Oldest  Trust 33-51 

CHAPTER  IV 

DOWN    THE    ATHABASCA    ONE    HUNDRED    AND    SIXTY-FIVE    MILES    TO    GRAND 

RAPIDS 

"Farewell,  Nistow !" — The  rainy  deck  of  a  "sturgeon  head"  un- 
der a  tarpaulin — Drifting  by  starlight — The  wild  geese 
overhead — Forty-foot  gas-spout  at  the  Pelican — The  mos- 

ix 


CONTENTS 


quito  makes  us  blood-brothers — Four  days  on  our  Robin- 
son Crusoe  Island  in  the  swirling  Athabasca — Nomen- 
clature of  the  North — Sentinels  of  the  Silence  ....  52-73 

CHAPTER  V 

NINETY    MILES    OF    RAPIDS 

The  Go-Quick-Her  takes  the  bit  in  her  mouth — Mallards  on  the 
half-shell — We  set  the  Athabascan  Thames  afire — Sturgeon- 
head  breaks  her  back  on  the  Big  Cascade — Fort  McMur- 
ray — A  stranded  argosy,  wreckage  on  the  beach — Miss 
Christine  Gordon,  the  Free  Trader — A  land  flowing  with 
coal  and  oil  and  gas  and  tar,  timber  and  lime 74~92 

CHAPTER  VI 

FORT    CHIPEWYAN    PAST    AND    PRESENT 

Old  Fort  Chipewyan — In  the  footsteps  of  Mackenzie  and  Sir 
John  Franklin — Sir  John  turns  parson — Grey  Nuns  and 
brown  babies — Where  grew  the  prize  wheat  of  the  Phila- 
delphia Centennial — Militant  missionaries  fight  each  other 
for  souls — The  strong  man  Loutit — Wyllie  at  the  forge — 
An  electric  watch-maker — Where  the  Gambel  sparrow 
builds — "  Out  of  old  books  " 93-JI3 

CHAPTER  VII 

LAKE   ATHABASCA   AND    ITS   FOND   DU   LAC 

Farewell  to  the  Mounted  Police — Our  blankets  on  the  deck — 
Fern  odours  by  untravelled  ways — Typewriting  and  kodak- 
ing in  20  hours  of  daylight — Navigating  Lake  Athabasca 
by  the  power  o'  man — A  23-inch  trout — First  white  women 
at  Fond  du  Lac — Carlyle  among  the  Chipewyans,  a  Fond 
du  Lac  library — The  hermit  padre  and  the  hermit  thrush — 
Worn  north  trails  of  the  trapper — Caribou  by  the  hundred 
thousands — The  phalarope  and  the  suffragette  ....  114-133 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  VIII 

FOND    DU    LAC    TO    FORT    SMITH 

PAGES 

World's  records  beaten  on  the  Athabasca — Down  the  Slave  to 
Smith's  Landing — Priests  sink  in  the  Rapid  of  the  Drowned 
—The  Mosquito  Portage — Fort  Smith,  the  new  headquar- 
ters— Lady-slippers  and  night-hawks — Steamer  built  in  the 
wilderness — Last  stand  of  the  wood  bison — The  grey  wolf 
persists — Fur-trade  and  the  silver- fox — Breeding  pelicans  .  134-156 

CHAPTER  IX 

SLAVE  RIVER  AND  GREAT  SLAVE  LAKE 

"Red  lemol-lade"  kiddies — Tons  of  crystal  salt — Great  Slave  Lake 
and  its  fertile  shores — Yellow-Knife  and  Dog-Rib,  subjects 
of  the  Seventh  Edward — Hay  River  and  its  annual  mail — 
Ploughing  with  dogs — Bill  balked — The  Alexandra  Falls — 
Bishop  Bompas  as  a  surgeon;  amputations  while  you  wait  .  157-174 

CHAPTER  X 

PROVIDENCE  TO    SIMPSON,    ONE    HUNDRED   AND   FIFTY    MILES   DOWN    THE 

MACKENZIE 

Drowning  of  De-deed — Fort  Simpson,  the  old  headquarters — A 
mouldy  museum — The  shrew-mice  that  were  not  preserved 
in  rum — The  farthest  north  library — Gold-seekers  and 
grub-staked  brides — Bishop  Bompas,  the  Apostle  of  the 
North — Owindia,  the  Weeping  One — Fort  Simpson  in  the 
first  year  of  Victoria  the  Good I75~I93 


CHAPTER  XI 

FORT   GOOD    HOPE    ON    THE   ARCTIC    CIRCLE 

Tenny  Gouley  tells  us  things — Mackenzie  River,  past  and  pres- 
ent— The  fringed  gentian  at  Fort  Wrigley — The  fires  Mac- 
kenzie saw — The  weathered  knob  of  Bear  Rock — Great 
Bear  Lake — Orangeman's  Day  at  Norman — The  Ramparts 
of  the  Mackenzie — Fort  Good  Hope  under  the  Arctic  Cir- 
cle— Mignonette  and  Old  World  courtesy — We  meet  Hagar 

XI 


CONTENTS 

PAGES 

once  more — Potatoes  on  the  Circle — The  Little  Church  of 

the  Open  Door 194-211 

CHAPTER  XII 

ARCTIC   RED   RIVER    AND    ITS    ESKIMO 

Arctic  Red  River — Wilfrid  Laurier,  the  merger — Mrs.  Ila-la- 
Rocko,  the  danseuse — Marriage  as  the  Oo-vai-oo-aks  see 
it — Orange-blossoms  at  Su-pi-di-do's — Trading  tryst  at 
Barter  Island — Floating  fathers — By-o  Baby  Bunting — 
Wild  roses  and  tame  Eskimo — Midnight  football  with  wal- 
rus bladder  and  enthusiasm — Education  that  makes  for 
manliness 212-236 

CHAPTER  XIII 

FORT    MACPHERSON    FOLK 

Sir  John  Franklin's  lobsticks  at  Point  Separation — We  reach 
Fort  Macpherson  on  the  Peel — Sergeant  Fitzgerald, 
R.  N.  W.  M.  P.,  eulogizes  the  Eskimo — An  Eskimo  wife 
must  make  boots  that  are  waterproof — She  ariseth  also 
while  it  is  yet  night  and  cheweth  the  boots  of  her  house- 
hold— Cribbage-boards  the  link  between  Dick  Swiveller  and 
the  Eskimo — Linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out — Chauncey 
Depew  of  the  Kogmollycs 237-248 

CHAPTER  XIV 

MORALIZING    UNDER   THE    MIDNIGHT    SUN 

The  Midnight  Sun — Our  friend  the  heathen — "  We  want  to  go 
to  heljT — Catching  fish  by  prayer — The  Eskimo  and  the 
Flood — Pink  tea  at  the  Pole — Always  a  balance  in  the 
Eskimo  Bank — Marriage  for  better  and  not  for  worse — 
Christmas  carols  even  here 249-264 

CHAPTER  XV 

MAINLY    CONCERNING    FOOD 

Jurisprudence  on  ice — The  generous  Innuit — Emmie-ray,  the 
Delineator  pattern — Weak  races  are  pressed  south — Roxi,  a 

xii 


CONTENTS 


re-incarnation  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney — Blubbery  bon  vivants 
— Eskimo  knew  the  Elephant — We  write  the  last  chapter 
of  the  story  of  McClure,  the  navigator — Cannibalism  at  the 
Circle 265-280 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   TALE    OF    A    WHALE 

Circumpolar  Bowhead  makes  his  last  stand — Whales  here  and 
elsewhere — The  Yankee  peddler  at  Canada's  back-door — 
Thirteen  and  a  half  million  in  whale  values — Wind-swept 
Herschel,  the  Isle  of  Whales — One  wife  for  a  thousand  years 
—Baleen,  Spermaceti,  and  Ambergris — Save  the  Whale  .  281-302 


CHAPTER  XVII 

SOUTH    FROM    THE    ARCTIC   TO    CHIPEWYAN 

Lives  lost  for  the  sake  of  a  white  bead — The  stars  come  back — 
The  Keele  party  from  the  Dollarless  Divide — "  Here  and 
there  a  grayling " — Across  Great  Slave  Lake — The  first 
white  women  at  Fort  Rae — Land  of  the  musk-ox — Tales  of 
76  below — Two  Thursdays  in  one  week — Rabbits  on  ice  .  303-315 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

TO    MC  MURRAY   AND   BACK    TO   THE   PEACE 

The  nuptials  of  'Norine — Ladies  round  gents  and  gents  don't 
go — The  fossil-gatherers — I  give  my  name  to  a  Cree  kid- 
die— A  solid  mile  of  red  raspberries — The  typewriter  an  un- 
canny medicine — The  Beetle  Fleet  leaves  for  Outside — 
Shipwrecked  on  a  batture 316-324 


CHAPTER  XIX 

UP    THE    PEACE    TO    VERMILION 

Ho !  for  the  Peace — One  break  in  900  miles  of  navigation — A 
grey  wolf — Bear-meat  and  the  Se-weep-i-gons — Ninety-foot 

xiii 


CONTENTS 


PAGES 


spruces — Tom  Kerr  and  his  bairns — The  fish-seine  that 
never  fails — Our  lobsticks  by  Red  River — The  Chutes  of  the 
Peace 3^5-334 


CHAPTER  XX 

VERMILION-ON-THE-PEACE 

The  farthest  north  flour-mill — The  man  who  made  Vermilion — 
Wheat  at  $1.25  a  bushel — An  Experimental  Farm  in  lati- 
tude 58°  30' — An  unoccupied  kingdom  as  large  as  Belgium 
— Where  the  steamer  Peace  River  was  built — The  hos- 
pitable home  of  the  Wilsons — Vermilion  a  Land  of  Promise 
Fulfilled — Culture  and  the  Cloister — Thomas  of  Canter- 
bury on  the  Stump 335~344 


CHAPTER  XXI 

FORT   VERMILION    TO    LESSER    SLAVE 

Se-H-nah  of  the  happy  heart — My  premier  moose — The  rare 
and  resourceful  boatmen  of  the  North — Alexander  Mac- 
kenzie's last  camp 345~354 

CHAPTER  XXII 

PEACE   RIVER    CROSSING    TO    LESSER    SLAVE    LAKE 

Pleasant  prairies  of  the  Peace — We  tramp  a  hundred  miles — 
The  Angelus  at  Lesser  Slave — Poole  coats  and  Norfolk 
shooting- jackets — Roast  duck  galore — Alec  Kennedy  of  the 
Nile — Louise  the  Wetigo,  she  ate  nineteen 355-3^5 

CHAPTER  XXIII 

LESSER    SLAVE    LAKE   TO    EDMONTON 

Jim  wins:  Allie  Brick  can't  run — 100,000,000  acres  of  wheat- 
land — Jilly-Loo  bird  still  lacks  a  rib — 100  moose  in  one 
month — Peripatetic  judges  but  no  prisoners — The  best-tat- 
tooed man  in  the  Province  of  Alberta — The-Man-Who 

Goes-Around-and-Helps 366-373 

xiv 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXIV 

HOMES    AMONG    THE   YELLOW    WHEAT 

PAGES 

Edmonton  again — Wyllie  goes  out  on  the  Long  Journey — Don- 
aldson killed  by  a  walrus — Two  drowned  in  the  Athabasca 
—Steel  kings  and  iron  horses — Wheat-plains  the  melting- 
pot  of  a  New  Nation 374-393 

ROUTES  OF  TRAVEL 396-398 


XV 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


A  magnificent  trophy Frontispiece 

Map  showing  the  Author's  Route Facing  i 

Sir  Wilfred  Laurier 2 

Earl  Grey,  Governor-General  of  Canada 6 

Winnipeg,  the  Buckle  of  the  Wheat  Belt 10 

The  Canadian  Women's  Press  Club 15 

A  section  of  Edmonton 22-23 

The  Golden  Fleece  of  Saskatchewan 25 

Irrigation  ditch,  Calgary,  Alberta 27 

A  Waldorf-Astoria  on  the  prairie's  edge 28 

Athabasca  Landing 33 

Necessity  knows  no  law  at  Athabasca 36 

The  Missionary  Hymnal  for  the  Indians 38-39 

C.  C.  Chipman,  Commissioner  of  the  H.  B.  Co 46 

A  "  sturgeon-head  "  on  the  Athabasca 53 

"  Farewell,  Nistow  !  " 54 

Grand  Rapids,  on  the  Athabasca  River 60 

Portage  at  Grand  Rapids  Island 63 

Our  transport  at  Grand  Rapids  Island 64 

Cheese-shaped  nodules,  Grand  Rapids  Island 65 

Scouts  of  the  Royal  Northwest  Mounted  Police    ......  71 

Towing  the  wrecked  barge  ashore 75 

The  scow  breaks  her  back  and  fills 80 

Miss  Gordon,  a  Fort  McMurray  trader 84 

The  steamer  Grahame 88 

An  oil  derrick  on  the  Athabasca 90 

Tar  banks  on  the  Athabasca 91 

Fort  Chipewyan,  Lake  Athabasca 94 

Three  of  a  kind 101 

Woman's  work  of  the  Far  North 106 

Lake  Athabasca  in  winter 115 

Bishop  Grouard 117 

The  modern  note-book 119 

Tepee  of  a  Caribou-eater  Indian 121 

xvii 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

A  bit  of  Fond  du  Lac 123 

Birch-barks  at  Fond  du  Lac 125 

Fond  du  Lac 134 

Father  Beihler  carrying  water  to  a  dying  Indian 136 

Smith's  Landing 138 

A  transport  between  Fort  Smith  and  Smith's  Landing    ....  143 

Lord  Strathcona,  Governor  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company      .      ,  144 

The  world's  last  buffalo 147 

Tracking  a  scow  across  mountain  portage 154 

The  "red  lemol-lade"  boys 158 

Salt  beds 159 

Unloading  at  Fort  Resolution 161 

Coming  to  "  take  Treaty  "  on  Great  Slave  Lake 164 

On  the  Slave .  168 

Dogs  cultivating  potatoes 170 

David  Villeneuve 173 

Hudson's  Bay  House,  Fort  Simpson 178 

A  Slavi  family  at  Fort  Simpson 183 

A  Slavi  type  from  Fort  Simpson 184 

Interior  of  St.  David's  Cathedral 188 

Fort  Simpson  by  the  light  of  the  Aurora 194 

Indians  at  Fort  Norman 201 

Roman  Catholic  Church  at  Fort  Norman 203 

The  ramparts  of  the  Mackenzie 204 

Rampart  House  on  the  Porcupine  near  the  Mackenzie  mouth  .      .  206 

A  Kogmollye  family 214 

Roxi  and  the  Oo-vai-oo-ak  family 217 

Farthest  North  football 232 

Two  spectators  at  the  game 233 

An  Eskimo  exhibit 235 

Constable  Walker  and  Sergeant  Fitzgerald  in  Eskimo  togs  .      .      .  239 

Two  wise  ones 241 

A  Nunatalmute  Eskimo  family 242 

Cribbage-boards  of  walrus  tusks 245 

Useful  articles  made  by  the  Eskimo 247 

Home  of  Mrs.  Macdonald 250 

Eskimo  kayaks  at  the  Arctic  edge 254 

A  wise  man  of  the  Dog-Ribs 258 

A  study  in  expression 259 

We  tell  the  tale  of  a  whale 282 

Two  little  ones  at  Herschel  Island    .                              285 

Breeding  grounds  of  the  seal 296 

xviii 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

The  Keele  party  on  the  Gravel  River 305 

The  first  typewriter  on  Great  Slave  Lake 309 

The  bell  at  Fort  Rae  mission 310 

The  musk-ox 311 

A  meadow  at  McMurray 320 

Starting  up  the  Athabasca 322 

On  the  Clearwater 323 

Evening  on  the  Peace 328 

Our  lobsticks  on  the  Peace     .  330 

The  chutes  of  the  Peace 332 

Pulling  out  the  Mee-wah-sin 333 

The  flour  mill  at  Vermilion-on-the-Peace 336 

Articles  made  by  Indians 338 

The  Hudson's  Bay  Store 339 

Papillon,  a  Beaver  brave 343 

Going  to  school  in  winter 345 

My  precious  moose 347 

Beaver  camp,  on  Paddle  River 349 

The  site  of  old  Fort  McLeod 352 

Jean  Baptiste,  pilot  on  the  Peace 356 

Fort  Dunvegan  on  the  Peace 357 

Fort  St.  John  on  the  Peace 359 

Where  King  was  arrested 360 

Alec  Kennedy  with  his  two  sons 361 

Cannibal  Louise,  her  little  girl  and  Miss  Cameron 363 

A  Peace  River  Pioneer 366 

Three  generations 369 

A  family  at  the  Lesser  Slave 371 

A  one-night  stand 372 

A  rye  field  in  Brandon,  Manitoba 374 

Charles  M.  Hays,  President  of  the  Grand  Trunk  Railway  .      .      .  377 
William  Mackenzie,  President  of  the  Canadian  Northern  Railway  378 
Donald  D.  Maun,  Vice-president  of  the  Canadian  Northern  Rail- 
way    379 

William   Whyte,   Second  Vice-president  of  the  Canadian  Pacific 

Railway 380 

In  the  wheat  fields 381 

Hon.  Frank  Oliver,  Minister  of  the  Interior 385 

Threshing  grain 386 

Doukhobors  threshing  flax 387 

Sir  William  Van  Home,  first  President  of  the  Canadian  Pacific 

Railway 389 

xix 


O  "^  1  -..  {SASKATCHEWAN! 

~  EDMONTON     ****»«.,^RA-r-ri  FFORD 


IDAHO       1    WYOMING       1_. 


Map  of  the  Author's  Route 


THE   NEW   NORTH 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   MENDICANTS   REACH    WINNIPEG 

"We  are  as  mendicants  who  wait 
Along  the  roadside  in  the  sun. 
Tatters  of  yesterday  and  shreds 
Of  morrow  clothe  us  every  one. 

"And  some  are  dotards,  who  believe 

And  glory  in  the  days  of  old; 
While  some  are  dreamers,  harping  still 
Upon  an  unknown  age  of  gold. 

"O  foolish  ones,  put  by  your  care ! 

Where  wants  are  many,  joys  are  few; 
And  at  the  wilding  springs  of  peace, 
God  keeps  an  open  house  for  you. 

"But  there  be  others,  happier  few, 

The  vagabondish  sons  of  God, 
Who  know   the  by-ways  and  the  flowers, 
And  care  not  how  the  world  may  plod." 

Isn't  it  Riley  who  says,  "Ef  you  want  something,  an' 
jest  dead  set  a-longin'  fer  it  with  both  eyes  wet,  and  tears 
won't  bring  it,  why,  you  try  sweat"  ?  Well,  we  had  tried 
sweat  and  longing  for  two  years,  with  planning  and  hoping 
and  the  saving  of  nickels,  and  now  we  are  off! 

Shakespeare  makes  his  man  say,  "I  will  run  as  far  as 

I 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

God  has  any  ground,"  and  that  is  our  ambition.  We  are 
to  travel  north  and  keep  on  going  till  we  strike  the  Arctic, 
— straight  up  through  Canada.  Most  writers  who 
traverse  The  Dominion  enter  it  at  the  Eastern  portal  and 


Sir  Wilfred  Lauricr 

travel  west  by  the  C.  P.  R.,  following  the  line  of  least  re- 
sistance till  they  reach  the  Pacific.  Then  they  go  back  to 
dear  old  England  and  tell  the  world  all  about  Canada,  their 
idea  of  the  half-continent  being  Euclid's  conception  of  a 
straight  line,  "length  without  breadth." 


THE  MENDICANTS  REACH  WINNIPEG 

But  Canada  has  a  third  dimension,  a  diameter  that  cuts 
through  the  Belt  of  Wheat  and  Belt  of  Fur,  beginning 
south  at  the  international  boundary  and  ending  where  in 
his  winter-igloo  the  Arctic  Eskimo  lives  and  loves  after 
his  kind  and  works  out  his  own  destiny.  This  diameter 
we  are  to  follow.  To  what  end?  Not,  we  hope,  to  come 
back  like  him  who  went  from  Dan  to  Beersheba  to  say 
"All  is  barren,"  but  to  come  near  to  the  people,  our  fellow- 
Britons,  in  this  transverse  section  of  a  country  bigger  than 
Europe.  We  want  to  see  what  they  are  doing,  these  Trail- 
Blazers  of  Commerce,  who,  a  last  vedette,  are  holding  the 
silent  places,  awaiting  that  multitude  whose  coming  foot- 
steps it  takes  no  prophet  to  hear. 

We  will  take  the  great  waterways,  our  general  direction 
being  that  of  all  the  world-migrations.  Colonization  in 
America  has  followed  the  trend  of  the  great  rivers,  and  it 
has  ever  been  northward  and  westward, — till  you  and  I 
have  to  look  southward  and  eastward  for  the  graves  of 
our  ancestors.  The  sons  and  grandsons  of  those  who  con- 
quered the  St.  Lawrence  and  built  on  the  Mississippi  have 
since  occupied  the  shores  of  the  Red,  the  Assiniboine,  and 
the  Saskatchewan.  They  are  laying  strong  hands  upon 
the  Peace,  and  within  a  decade  will  be  platting  townships 
on  the  Athabasca,  the  Mackenzie,  and  the  Slave. 

There  has  always  been  a  West.  For  the  Greeks  there 
was  Sicily;  Carthage  was  the  western  outpost  of  Tyre; 
and  young  Roman  patricians  conquered  Gaul  and  specu- 
lated in  real  estate  on  the  sites  of  London  and  Liverpool. 
But  the  West  that  we  are  entering  upon  is  the  Last  West, 
the  last  unoccupied  frontier  under  a  white  man's  sky. 
When  this  is  staked  out,  pioneering  shall  be  no  more,  or 

3 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Amundsen  must  find  for  us  a  dream-continent  in  Beaufort 
Sea. 

Kipling  speaks  of  "a  route  unspoiled  of  Cook's/'  and  we 
have  found  it.  Going  to  the  office  of  Thos.  Cook  &  Son, 
in  Chicago,  with  a  friend  who  had  planned  a  Mediter- 
ranean tour,  I  gently  said,  "I  wonder  if  you  can  give  me 
information  about  a  trip  I  am  anxious  to  take  this  sum- 
mer." The  young  man  smiled  and  his  tone  was  that 
which  we  accord  to  an  indulged  child,  "I  guess  we  can. 
Cook  &  Son  give  information  on  most  places."  "Very 
well,"  I  said,  "I  want  to  go  from  Chicago  to  the  Arctic  by 
the  Mackenzie  River,  returning  home  by  the  Peace  and 
the  Lesser  Slave.  Can  you  tell  me  how  long  it  will  take, 
what  it  will  cost,  and  how  I  make  my  connections?" 
He  was  game ;  he  didn't  move  an  eyebrow,  but  went  off  to 
the  secret  recesses  in  the  back  office  to  consult  "the  main 
guy,"  "the  chief  squeeze,"  "the  head  push,"  "the  big 
noise."  Back  they  came  together  with  a  frank  laugh, 
"Well,  Miss  Cameron,  I  guess  you've  got  us.  Cook's  have 
no  schedule  to  the  Arctic  that  way."  They  were  able, 
however,  to  give  accurate  information  as  to  how  one  should 
reach  Hudson  Bay,  with  modes  of  travel,  dates,  and  ap- 
proximate cost.  But  this  journey  for  another  day. 

Leaving  Chicago  one  sizzling  Sunday  in  mid-May,  we 
(my  niece  and  I)  stop  for  a  day  to  revel  in  bird  and  blos- 
soms at  Lake  Minnetonka  in  Minnesota,  then  silently  in 
the  night  cross  the  invisible  parallel  of  49°  where  the 
eagle  perches  and  makes  amorous  eyes  at  the  beaver. 

With  the  Polar  Ocean  as  ultimate  goal,  we  cannot  help 
thinking  how  during  the  last  generation  the  Arctic  Circle 
has  been  pushed  steadily  farther  north.  Forty  years  ago 

4 


THE  MENDICANTS  REACH  WINNIPEG 

Minneapolis  and  St.  Paul  were  struggling  trading-posts, 
and  all  America  north  of  them  was  the  range  of  the  buf- 
falo and  the  Indian.  Then  Fort  Garry  (Winnipeg)  be- 
came Farthest  North.  Before  starting,  I  had  dug  out 
from  the  Public  Library  the  record  of  a  Convention  of 
Wheat-Growers  who,  fifteen  years  ago  in  Chicago,  delib- 
erately came  to  the  conclusion  (and  had  the  same  en- 
grossed on  their  minutes)  that  "Our  Northern  tier  of 
States  is  too  far  north  to  successfully  grow  wheat."  For 
years  Winnipeg  was  considered  the  northern  limit  of 
wheat-growth,  the  Arctic  Circle  of  endeavour.  Then  that 
line  of  limitation  was  pushed  farther  back  until  it  is  Ed- 
monton-on-the-Saskatchewan  that  is  declared  "Farthest 
North."  To-day  we  are  embarking  on  a  journey  which  is 
to  reach  two  thousand  miles  due  north  of  Edmonton ! 

In  the  train  between  Minneapolis  and  Winnipeg  an  old 
man  with  a  be-gosh  beard  looks  worth  while.  We  tell  him 
where  we  are  going,  and  he  is  all  interest.  He  remembers 
the  time  when  Montreal  merchants  wishing  to  reach  Fort 
Garry  had  to  bend  down  by  way  of  St.  Paul  to  gain  their 
goal.  These  were  the  days  of  Indian  raids  and  bloody 
treachery.  "But,"  the  old  chap  says,  "the  Hudson's  Bay 
people  always  played  fa'r  and  squar'  with  the  Injuns. 
Even  in  them  days  the  Injun  knowed  that  crossed  flag  and 
what  it  stood  for.  I  mind  one  Englishman  and  his  wife 
who  had  come  from  Montreal  to  St.  Paul  in  an  ox-cart. 
The  whole  plains  was  covered  with  sneakin'  red  cusses  on 
the  war-path.  But  that  darned  Britisher  was  stubborn- 
set  on  pullin'  out  that  night  for  Fort  Garry,  with  his  wife 
and  kid,  and  what  did  the  cuss  do  but  nail  a  blame  little 
Union  Jack  on  his  cart,  poke  the  goad  in  his  ox,  and  hit 

5 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

the  trail !  My  God,  I  kin  still  see  the  old  ox  with  that  bit 
of  the  British  Empire,  wiggling  out  of  St.  Paul  at  sun- 
down. And  the  cuss  got  there  all  right,  too,  though  we 


Earl  Grey,  Governor-General  of  Canada 

was  all  wearing  crape  beforehand  for  his  sweet-faced 
wife."  This  incident  was  not  unique.  In  the  early  '6o's 
an  English  curate,  afterwards  to  be  known  to  the  world  as 
Bishop  Bompas,  passed  north  through  St.  Cloud  on  his 

6 


THE  MENDICANTS  REACH  WINNIPEG 

way  from  England  to  the  Arctic.  When  the  Sioux  were 
reported  on  the  war-path,  Mr.  Bompas  improvised  a  Union 
Jack  with  bits  of  coloured  clothing  and  fastened  it  on  the 
first  ox-cart  of  his  cavalcade.  Seeing  this,  the  hostile 
Sioux  turned  bridle  and  rode  away ;  and,  protected  by  the 
flag  of  the  clustered  crosses,  the  Gospel-cart  passed  -on. 

What  Cook  &  Son  failed  to  supply,  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company  in  Winnipeg  furnished.  This  concern  has  been 
foster-mother  to  Canada's  Northland  for  two  hundred  and 
thirty-nine  years.  Its  foundation  reaches  back  to  when 
the  Second  Charles  ruled  in  England, — an  age  when  men 
said  not  "How  cheap?"  but  "How  good?",  not  "How 
easy?"  but  "How  well?"  The  Hudson's  Bay  Company 
is  to-day  the  Cook's  Tourist  Company  of  the  North,  the 
Coutts'  Banking  concern,  and  the  freshwater  Lloyd's.  No 
man  or  woman  can  travel  with  any  degree  of  comfort 
throughout  Northwest  America  except  under  the  kindly 
aegis  of  the  Old  Company.  They  plan  your  journey  for 
you,  give  you  introductions  to  their  faqtors  at  the  differ- 
ent posts,  and  sell  you  an  outfit  guiltless  of  the  earmarks 
of  the  tenderfoot.  Moreover,  they  will  furnish  you  with 
a  letter  of  credit  which  can  be  transmuted  into  bacon  and 
beans  and  blankets,  sturgeon-head  boats,  guides'  services, 
and  succulent  sow-belly,  at  any  point  between  Fort  Chimo 
on  Ungava  Bay  and  Hudson's  Hope-on-the-Peace,  be- 
tween Winnipeg-on-the-Red  and  that  point  in  the  Arctic 
where  the  seagull  whistles  over  the  whaling-ships  at 
Herschel. 

For  a  railroad  station,  the  wall-notices  in  the  baggage 
room  of  the  Canadian  Northern  at  Winnipeg  are  unique. 
Evidently  inspired  for  the  benefit  of  employes,  they  give 

7 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

the  incoming  traveller  a  surprise.  Here  they  are  as  we 
copied  them  down: 

Let  all  things  be  done  decently  and  in  order. 

I  Cor.  xiv,  40. 

Be  punctual,  be  regular,  be  clean. 
Remember  the  Sabbath  day  to  keep  it  holy. 
Be  obliging  and  kind  one  to  another. 
Let  no  angry  word  be  heard  among  you 
Be  not  fond  of  change.     (Sic.) 
Be  clothed  with  humility,  not  finery. 
Take  all  things  by  the  smooth  handle. 
Be  civil  to  all,  but  familiar  with  few. 

As  we  smile  over  this  Canadian  substitute  for  the 
American, — 

"Hang  on  to  your  hand-baggage.     Don't  let 
go  your  overcoat.     Thieves  are  around," 

the  baggage-master  with  a  strong  Scottish  accent  says 
over  our  shoulders,  "Guid  maxims,  and  we  live  up 
f  them!" 

A  big  Irish  policeman  is  talking  to  a  traveller  who 
has  stepped  off  a  transcontinental  train,  and  who  asks 
with  a  drawl,  "What  makes  Winnipeg?"  Scraping  a 
lump  of  mud  from  his  boot-heel,  the  Bobby  holds  it  out. 
"This  is  the  sordid  dhross  and  filthy  lucre  which  keeps  our 
nineteen  chartered  banks  and  their  one  and  twenty  sub- 
urban branches  going.  Just  beyant  is  one  hundred  mil- 
lion acres  of  it,  and  the  dhirty  stuff  grows  forty  bushels  of 
wheat  to  the  acre.  Don't  be  like  the  remittance  man 
from  England,  sorr,"  with  a  quizzical  look  at  the  checked 
suit  of  his  interlocutor,  "shure  they  turn  the  bottom  of  their 

8 


THE  MENDICANTS  REACH  WINNIPEG 

trowsies  up  so  high  that  divil  of  the  dhross  sticks  to 
them!"  As  Mulcahey  winks  the  other  eye,  we  drift  out 
into  this  "Buckle  of  the  Wheat-Belt." 

What  has  the  policeman's  hard  wheat  done  for  Winni- 
peg? Well,  it  gave  her  a  building  expansion,  a  year  ago, 
greater  than  that  of  any  other  city  of  her  population  in 
America.  One  year  has  seen  in  Western  Canada  an  in- 
crease in  crop  area  under  the  one  cereal  of  winter  wheat  of 
over  one  hundred  and  fifty  per  cent,  a  development  abso- 
lutely unique  in  the  world's  history. 

Winnipeg,  having  acquired  the  growing  habit,  expands 
by  leaps  and  bounds.  No  city  on  the  continent  within  the 
last  thirty-three  years  has  had  such  phenomenal  growth. 
In  1876  the  population  was  6,000;  it  now  counts  150,000 
souls.  This  city  is  the  greatest  grain-market  in  the  Brit- 
ish Empire,  and  from  it  radiate  twenty-two  distinct  pairs 
of  railway  tracks.  Architects  have  in  preparation  plans 
for  fifteen  million  dollars'  worth  of  buildings  during  the 
coming  year.  The  bank  clearings  in  1903  were  $246,- 
108,000;  last  year  they  had  increased  to  $618,111,801 ;  and 
a  Winnipeg  bank  has  never  failed.  Western  Canada  can- 
not grow  without  Winnipeg's  reaping  a  benefit,  for  most 
of  the  inward  and  outward  trade  filters  through  here. 
During  the  spring  months  three  hundred  people  a  day 
cross  the  border  from  the  United  States.  Before  the  year 
has  closed  a  hundred  thousand  of  them  will  have  merged 
themselves  into  Western  Canada's  melting-pot,  drawn  by 
that  strongest  of  lures — the  lure  of  the  land.  And  these 
hundred  thousand  people  do  not  come  empty-handed.  It 
is  estimated  that  they  bring  with  them  in  settlers'  effects 
and  cash  one  thousand  dollars  each,  thus  adding  in  port- 
3  9 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

able  property  to  the  wealth  of  Western  Canada  one  hun- 
dred million  dollars.  In  addition  they  bring  the  personal 
producing-factor,  an  asset  which  cannot  be  measured  in 
figures — the  "power  of  the  man." 

Not  only  from  the  United  States  do  Winnipeg's  citizens 
come.     This  City  of  the  Plains  is  a  human  mosaic  to  which 


Winnipeg,  the  Buckle  of  the  Wheat-Belt 

finished  pattern  every  nation  of  the  Old  World  furnishes 
its  ^patine.  The  Bible  Society  of  Winnipeg  sells  Bibles 
printed  in  fifty-one  different  languages — Armenian, 
Arabic,  Burmese,  Cree,  Esth,  Korean,  Persian,  Sanscrit, 
Slavonic,  Tinne,  Urdu,  Yiddish,  and  nine  and  thirty  other 
tongues.  It  is  to  be  supposed  that  some  buy  their  Bible 
not  because  it  is  the  Bible  but  in  order  to  feast  the  eye  on 
the  familiar  characters  of  the  home  tongue.  So  would 

10 


THE  MENDICANTS  REACH  WINNIPEG 

Robinson  Crusoe  have  glutted  his  sight  with  a  copy  of  the 
London  Times,  could  the  goat  have  committed  the  an- 
achronism of  digging  one  out  from  among  the  flotsam  in 
the  kelp. 

Going  into  a  hardware  store  to  get  a  hatchet  and  a  cop- 
per kettle,  we  cajole  the  proprietor  into  talking  shop.  He 
has  orders  for  six  hundred  steam-ploughs  to  be  delivered 
to  farmers  the  coming  season.  We  estimate  that  each  of 
these  will  break  at  least  fifteen  hundred  acres  during  the 
six  months  that  must  elapse  before  we  hope  to  return  to 
Winnipeg.  This  will  make  nearly  a  million  acres  to  be 
broken  by  the  steam-ploughs  sold  by  this  one  concern,  and 
practically  the  whole  number  will  be  used  for  breaking  wild 
land.  A  peep  into  the  ledger  of  this  merchant  shows  in 
the  list  of  his  plough-buyers  Russian  names  and  unpro- 
nounceable patronymics  of  the  Finn,  the  Doukhobor,  and 
the  Buckowinian.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  these  will  drive 
furrows  that  look  straighter  than  their  signatures  do. 
"But  they  are  all  good  pay,"  the  implement-man  says. 
Looking  at  the  red  ploughs,  we  see  in  each  a  new  chapter 
to  be  written  in  Canada's  history.  The  page  of  the  book 
is  the  prairie,  as  yet  inviolate,  and  running  out  into  flow- 
ers to  the  skyline.  The  tools  to  do  the  writing  are  these 
ploughs  and  mowers  and  threshers,  the  stout  arms  of  men 
and  of  faith-possessed  women.  It  is  all  new  and  splendid 
and  hopeful  and  formative ! 

We  get  in  Winnipeg  another  picture,  one  that  will  re- 
main with  us  till  we  reach  the  last  Great  Divide.  At  the 
Winnipeg  General  Hospital,  Dr.  D.  A.  Stewart  says  to 
us,  "Come,  I  want  to  show  you  a  brave  chap,  one  who  has 
fallen  by  the  way."  We  find  this  man,  Alvin  Carlton, 

ii 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

stretched  on  a  cot.  "Tell  him  that  you  are  going  into  the 
land  of  fur,"  whispers  the  doctor,  "he  has  been  a  trapper 
all  his  life." 

Crossing  soft  ice  on  the  Lake  of  the  Woods,  Carlton 
broke  through,  and  his  snow-shoes  pinned  him  fast.  When 
dragged  out  he  had  suffered  so  with  the  intense  cold  that 
he  became  partially  paralysed  and  was  sent  here  to  the 
hospital.  Hard  luck?  Yes,  but  the  misfortune  was  tem- 
pered with  mercy.  Within  these  walls  Carlton  met  a 
doctor  full  of  the  mellow  juice  of  life, — a  doctor  with  a 
man's  brain,  the  sympathy  of  a  woman,  and  the  heart  of  a 
little  child.  The  trapper,  as  we  are  introduced  to  him,  has 
one  leg  and  both  hands  paralysed,  with  just  a  perceptible 
sense  of  motion  remaining  in  the  other  leg.  His  vocal 
cords  are  so  affected  that  the  sounds  he  makes  are  to  us 
absolutely  unintelligible,  more  like  the  mumblings  of  an 
animal  than  the  speech  of  a  man.  Between  patient  and 
doctor,  a  third  man  entered  the  drama, — Mr.  Grey,  a  con- 
valescent. Appointed  special  nurse  to  the  trapper,  Grey 
studied  him  as  a  mother  studies  her  deficient  child,  and 
now  was  able,  to  our  unceasing  marvel,  to  translate  these 
sad  mouthings  of  Carlton  into  human  speech. 

Who  is  this  patient?  A  man  without  friends  or  in- 
fluence, not  attractive  in  appearance,  more  than  distressing 
to  listen  to, — just  one  more  worker  thrown  off  from  the 
gear  of  the  rapidly-turning  wheel  of  life.  The  consulting 
doctors  agreed  that  no  skill  could  perform  a  cure,  could 
not  even  arrest  the  creeping  death.  Winnipeg  is  big  and 
busy,  and  no  corner  of  it  more  crowded  than  the  General 
Hospital,  no  corps  more  overworked.  Dr.  Stewart  had 
two  men's  work  to  do.  He  worked  all  day  and  was  busy 

12 


THE  MENDICANTS  REACH  WINNIPEG 

well  into  the  night.  A  doctor's  natural  tendency  is  to  see 
in  each  man  that  he  ministers  to  merely  "a  case,"  a  mani- 
festation of  some  disease  to  be  watched  and  tabulated  and 
ticked  off  into  percentages.  But  in  the  Stewart-Carlton- 
Grey  combination,  Fate  had  thrown  together  three  young 
men  in  whom  the  human  part,  the  man  element,  loomed 
large. 

The  doctor  guessed  that  under  that  brave  front  the 
heart  of  the  trapper  was  eating  itself  out  for  the  cry  of 
the  moose,  the  smell  of  wood-smoke  by  twilight.  We  are 
happiest  when  we  create.  So  he  said  to  Carlton,  "Did 
you  ever  write  a  story?"  The  head  shook  answer. 
"Well,  why  don't  you  try?  You  must  know  a  lot,  old 
chap,  about  out-door  things,  that  nobody  else  knows. 
Think  some  of  it  out,  and  then  dictate  it  to  Grey  here." 

The  outcome  was  disappointing.  The  uncouth  sounds, 
translated  by  Grey,  were  bald,  bare,  and  stiff.  Soon  the 
stiffness  worked  off.  With  half-shut  eyes  Carlton  lived 
again  in  the  woods.  He  lifted  the  dewy  branch  of  a  tree 
and  surprised  the  mother  deer  making  the  toilet  of  her 
fawn,  saw  the  beaver  busied  with  his  home  of  mud  and 
wattles,  heard  the  coyote  scream  across  the  prairie  edge. 
Easily  the  thought  flowed,  and  the  stuff  that  Grey  handed 
in  was  a  live  story  that  breathed.  In  that  brave  heart  the 
joy  of  the  creator  stirred,  and  with  it  that  feeling  which 
makes  all  endeavour  worth  while — the  thought  that  some- 
body cares.  A  close  observer  at  this  stage  of  the  game 
may  read,  too,  on  the  face  of  Grey  the  kindly  look  that 
comes  when  we  forget  ourselves  long  enough  to  take  the 
trouble  to  reach  out  for  another  man's  viewpoint. 

Carlton's  short  stories,  submitted  to  a  publisher,  were 

13 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

pronounced  good,  were  accepted,  and  brought  a  cash  re- 
turn. They  struck  a  new  note  among  the  squabblings  of 
the  nature-fakers.  Favourable  comment  came  from  those 
who  read  them,  who,  reading,  knew  naught  of  their  three 
authors.  Before  this  Carlton  had  never  written  a  line 
for  publication ;  but  he  had  been  a  true  observer.  He  had 
felt,  and  was  able  to  project  himself  into  the  minds  of 
those  living  things  he  had  seen  and  hunted. 

I  leave  the  hospital  cot  with  a  strange  lump  forming  in 
my  throat,  although  every  one  around  me,  and  the  patient 
most  of  all,  is  gay  and  blithe.  I  say  to  Carlton,  "I  wish  I 
could  take  your  knowledge  and  your  eyes  with  me  into  the 
North,  there  is  so  much  I  will  miss  because  of  my  lack  of 
knowledge."  With  Grey's  kindly  interpretation  I  get 
my  answer,  "You  must  take  your  own  mind,  your  own 
eyes ;  you  must  see  for  yourself." 

During  the  last  day  in  Winnipeg,  while  the  Kid  (like 
faithful  Ariovistus)  is  looking  after  the  impedimenta,  I 
snatch  half  an  hour  to  look  in  at  the  Royal  Alexandra  upon 
the  reception  which  the  Women's  Canadian  Club  is  tender- 
ing to  Mrs.  Humphry  Ward.  Rain-bespattered,  short- 
skirted,  and  anchored  with  disreputable  rubbers  gluey 
with  Winnipeg  mud,  I  sit  on  the  fringe  of  things,  fairly 
intoxicated  with  the  idea  that  we  are  off  and  this  North 
trip  no  dream.  Mrs.  Sanford  Evans  presides  with  her 
usual  savoir  faire  and  ushers  in  the  guest  of  the  day,  beau- 
tifully-gowned and  gracious. 

Like  a  bolt  from  the  blue  came  the  summons  from  the 
president,  and  I,  all  muddy,  am  called  to  the  seats  of  the 
mighty.  I  have  never  seen  a  more  splendid  aggregation 
of  women  than  the  members  of  the  Winnipeg  Canadian 


THE  MENDICANTS  REACH  WINNIPEG 

Club,  tall,  strong,  alert,  and  full  of  initiative.  To  face 
them  is  a  mental  and  moral  challenge.  I  try  to  hide  those 
muddy  shoes  of  mine.  The  Winnipeg  women  are  indul- 
gent, they  make  allowance  for  my  unpresentable  attire, 
and  shower  upon  me  cheery  wishes  for  the  success  of  my 
journey.  Mrs.  Humphry  Ward  calls  attention  to  the  lack 
of  playgrounds  in  England.  She  wants  to  bring  more 


The  Canadian  Women's  Press  Club 

fresh  air  and  space  to  the  crowded  people  of  the  Old  World. 
I  submit  that  my  wish  is  the  mathematical  converse  to 
hers.  My  great  desire  is  to  call  attention  to  the  great  un- 
occupied lands  of  Canada,  to  induce  people  from  the 
crowded  centres  of  the  Old  World  to  use  the  fresh  air  of 
the  New. 

To  those  who  bid  us  good-bye  at  the  train,  the  Kid  and 
I  yell  exultantly,  "All  aboard  for  the  Arctic  Ocean  and 
way  ports !" 

15 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

A  group  of  Galicians  sitting  by  the  curb,  two  mothers 
and  seven  small  children,  one  a  baby  at  the  breast,  make 
the  last  picture  we  see  as  the  train  pulls  out.  It  was  the 
end  of  their  first  day  in  Winnipeg.  The  fathers  of  the 
flock  evidently  were  seeking  work  and  had  left  their  fam- 
ilies gazing  through  the  portals  of  the  strange  new  land. 
In  the  half-sad,  altogether-brave  lines  on  the  young  moth- 
ers' faces  and  their  tender  looks  bent  on  the  little  ones 
we  read  the  motive  responsible  for  all  migrations — "Bet- 
ter conditions  for  the  babies."  In  the  little  fellows  of 
seven  or  eight  with  their  ill-fitting  clothes  and  their  dog- 
ged looks  of  determination  one  sees  the  makers  of  em- 
pire. Before  a  decade  is  past  they  will  be  active  wheat- 
growers  in  their  own  right,  making  two  grains  grow 
where  one  grew  before  and  so  "deserving  better  of  man- 
kind than  the  whole  race  of  politicians  put  together."  I 
think  it  was  President  Garfield  who  said,  "I  always  feel 
more  respect  for  a  boy  than  for  a  man.  Who  knows  what 
possibilities  may  be  buttoned  up  under  that  ragged  jacket?" 
It  doesn't  take  long  for  the  foreigners  to  make  good.  A 
young  Icelander,  Skuli  Johnson,  of  all  the  thousands  of 
Winnipeg  students,  this  year  captured  the  coveted  honor 
of  the  academic  world — the  Rhodes  scholarship. 

We  slip  out  of  Winnipeg  as  the  bells  of  St.  Boniface 
ring  the  vespers  from  their  turrets  twain.  Whittier,  who 
never  saw  this  quaint  cathedral,  has  immortalized  it  in 
verse.  The  story  is  one  of  those  bits  of  forgotten  history 
so  hard  to  get  hold  of  in  a  day  when  Winnipeg  measures 
its  every  thought  in  bushels  and  bullion. 

The  settlers  who  came  to  Selkirk  on  the  outskirts  of 
present  Winnipeg  just  a  hundred  years  ago  were  sturdy 

16 


THE  MENDICANTS  REACH  WINNIPEG 

Scots,  weaned  on  the  Psalms  of  David  and  the  Shorter 
Catechism.  There  were  English  missionaries  here  and 
priests  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  but  the  disciples  of  John 
Knox  wanted  some  one  to  expound  Predestination  to 
them.  A  religious  ceremony  performed  by  any  man  who 
was  not  a  Presbyterian  seemed  scarcely  binding.  One  old 
lady,  speaking  of  the  nuptials  of  her  daughter,  said,  "I 
wudna  have  Janet  marrit  by  the  bishop.  She  maun  wait 
till  we  can  have  a  properly-ordained  meenister."  And  he 
was  coming.  Even  now  he  was  floating  in  on  the  Red 
River  with  Indian  and  half-breed  boatmen,  having  reached 
St.  Paul  from  Scotland  via  the  Atlantic  seaboard  some 
weeks  before. 

When  a  Scot  and  an  Indian  get  in  a  boat  together,  to 
use  a  Will  Carleton  phrase,  "they  do  not  teem  with  con- 
versational grace."  Straight  from  Aberdeen,  the  young 
Dominee  coming  into  Winnipeg  little  dreamed  that  the 
Church  of  Rome  had  established  its  Mission  on  the  Red 
River  decades  ago.  In  fact,  he  knew  as  little  about  Can- 
ada as  he  did  about  Timbuctoo,  and  in  his  simplicity 
thought  himself  "the  first  that  ever  burst  into  that  silent 
sea."  When  the  evening  breeze  brought  to  his  ears  a 
muffled  sound,  he  was  in  doubt  how  to  place  it. 

"Is  it  the  clang  of  wild-geese? 

Is  it  the  Indian's  yell, 
That  lends  to  the  voice  of  the  North-wind 

The  tones  of  a  far-off  bell?" 

The  Indian  boatmen  said  nothing,  but  thought  deep, 
like  the  Irishman's  parrot. 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

"The  voyageur  smiles  as  he  listens 
To  the  sound  that  grows  apace ; 
Well  he  knows  the  vesper  ringing 
Of  the  bells  of  St.  Boniface." 

Once  the  young  Scot  had  reached  his  flock,  he  wrote 
back  to  a  friend  in  the  States  telling  how  he  came  across 
on  the  edge  of  the  wilderness 

"The  bells  of  the  Roman  Mission, 

That  call  from  their  turrets  twain 
To  the  boatmen  on  the  river, 
To  the  hunter  on  the  plain." 

That  friend  was  a  fellow-townsman  of  the  "Quaker 
Poet."  The  story  was  told  to  Whittier  and  inspired  the 
lines  of  The  Red  River  Voyageur. 


CHAPTER  II 

WINNIPEG  TO  ATHABASCA   LANDING 

"To  the  far-flung  fenceless  prairie 

Where  the  quick  cloud-shadows  trail, 
To  our  neighbor's  barn  in  the  offing 
And  the  line  of  the  new-cut  rail ; 
To  the  plough  in  her  league-long  furrow." 

— Rudyard  Kipling. 

Place  a  pair  of  dividers  with  one  leg  on  Winnipeg  and 
the  other  leg  at  Key  West,  Florida.  Then  swing  the 
lower  leg  to  the  northwest,  and  it  will  not  reach  the  limit 
of  good  agricultural  land. 

From  Winnipeg  to  Edmonton,  roughly  speaking,  is  a 
thousand  miles,  and  two  railway  lines  are  open  to  us,— 
the  Canadian  Pacific  and  the  Canadian  Northern.     We  go 
by  the  former  route  and  return  in  the  autumn  by  the  lat- 
ter. 

Pulling  out  from  Winnipeg,  we  enter  a  prairie  wheat- 
field  one  thousand  miles  long  and  of  unknown  width,  into 
which  the  nations  of  the  world  are  pouring.  "The  sleep- 
ing nation  beyond/'  is  what  General  Sherman  in  a  mo- 
ment of  pique  once  called  Canada.  The  sleeping  giant 
has  awakened.  We  are  on  the  heels  of  the  greatest  eco- 
nomic trek  this  world  has  ever  seen.  The  historian  of  to- 
morrow will  rank  it  with  the  world  migrations. 

The  flourishing  centres  of  Portage  la  Prairie,  Brandon 
with  its  Experimental  Farm,  Regina,  the  headquarters  of 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

the  Mounted  Police,  Moose  Jaw,  and  Medicine  Hat  are 
passed,  and  with  these  the  new,  raw  towns  in  the  tar-paper 
stage,  towns  that  smell  of  sawdust,  naked  stand  of  paint. 
Never  in  the  world's  history  did  towns  spring  into  life  as 
these  do.  To-day  the  wind  on  the  prairie,  to-morrow  the 
sharp  conversation  of  the  hammer  on  the  nail-head,  next 
week  the  implement  warehouse,  the  tent  hotel,  the  little 
cluster  of  homes.  In  England  it  takes  a  bishop  to  make  a 
city,  but  here  the  nucleus  needed  is  a  wheat  elevator,  red 
against  the  setting  sun. 

The  ploughs  that  we  saw  in  Winnipeg  are  at  work  here 
among  the  buffalo  bones  and  the  spring  anemones.  As 
day  breaks  we  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  sunbonneted  mother 
and  her  three  little  kiddies.  An  ox  is  their  rude  coadjutor, 
and  through  the  flower-sod  they  cut  their  first  furrow.  It 
is  the  beginning  of  a  new  home.  Involuntarily  one's  mind 
jumps  to  the  crowded  cities  of  the  Old  World  with  their 
pale-cheeked  children  and  fetid  alleyways.  Surely  in 
bringing  the  workless  man  of  the  Old  World  to  the  man- 
less  work  of  the  New,  the  Canadian  Government  and  the 
transportation  companies  are  doing  a  bit  of  God's  work. 

Half  way  between  Winnipeg  and  the  Pacific  we  reach 
Calgary,  breezy,  buoyant  Calgary,  the  commercial  metrop- 
olis of  the  foothills,  already  a  busy  mart  and  predestined 
to  be  the  distributing  point  for  many  railroads.  The  big- 
gest man-made  thing  in  Calgary  is  the  C.  P.  R.  irrigation 
works,  the  largest  on  this  continent.  The  area  included 
in  the  irrigation  block  is  twice  as  big  as  the  Island  of  Porto 
Rico  and  one-eighth  the  size  of  England  and  Wales;  and 
the  ultimate  expenditure  on  the  undertaking  will  reach  the 
five  million  mark. 

20 


INNIPEG  TO  ATHABASCA  LANDING 


Calgary  is  the  centre  of  a  country  literally  flowing  with 
milk  and  honey  and  fat  things.  The  oil-fields  of  Pincher 
Creek,  with  their  rich  promise  of  becoming  a  second 
Pennsylvania,  are  contiguous  to  the  city.  The  winter 
wheat  grown  in  Southern  Alberta  was  awarded  first  prize 
and  gold  medal  at  the  World's  Fair  in  Oregon  in  1905. 
The  hackney  carriage  horses  which  took  first  prize  at  the 
last  Montreal  and  New  York  horse-fairs  were  foaled  and 
raised  near  Calgary.  If  we  were  to  continue  going  due 
west  from  this  point,  all  the  scenic  glories  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains  would  be  ours  —  seventy  Switzerlands  in  one. 
But  that  journey  must  stand  over  for  another  day,  with 
the  journey  to  Prince  Rupert,  the  ocean  terminus  of  the 
Grand  Trunk  Pacific. 

Turning  sharply  to  the  north,  we  travel  two  hundred 
miles,  and  draw  into  where  Edmonton,  the  capital  of  Al- 
berta, sits  smiling  on  the  banks  of  her  silver  Saskatche- 
wan. As  he  sees  us  digging  out  our  tents  and  dunnage, 
the  porter  asks,  "Then  yer  not  comin'  back?"  "No." 
"You  are  goin'  to  the  North  Pole,  then,  the  place  you  wuz 
hollerin'  fer  !" 

With  the  exception  of  Victoria,  Edmonton  has  the  most 
charming  location  of  all  cities  of  Western  Canada.  High 
Hope  stalks  her  streets.  There  is  a  spirit  of  initiative  and 
assuredness  in  this  virile  town,  a  culture  and  thoughtful- 
ness  in  her  people,  expectancy  in  the  very  air.  It  is  the 
city  of  contrasts  ;  the  ox-cart  dodges  the  automobile  ;  in  the 
track  of  French  heel  treads  the  moccasin;  the  silk  hat  sa- 
lutes the  Stetson. 

Edmonton  is  the  end  of  steel.  Three  lines  converge 
here:  the  Canadian  Northern,  the  Canadian  Pacific,  and 

21 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

the  Grand  Trunk  Pacific.  The  Canadian  Northern  ar- 
rived first,  coming  in  four  years  ago.  Now  that  Edmon- 
ton has  arrived,  it  seems  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world  that  there  should  have  sprung  up  on  the  Saskatche- 
wan this  rich  metropolis,  anticipating  for  itself  a  future  ex- 
pansion second  to  no  city  in  commercial  Canada.  But 
some  one  had  to  have  faith  and  prescience  before  Edmon- 
ton got  her  start,  and  the  god-from-the-machine  was  the 
Canadian  Northern,  in  other  words,  William  Mackenzie 
and  D.  D.  Mann.  Individuals  and  nations  as  they  reap  a 


harvest  are  apt  to  forget  the  hands  that  sowed  the  seed  in 
faith,  nothing  doubting.  When  this  railroad  went  into 
Edmonton,  as  little  was  known  of  the  valley  of  the  Sas- 
katchewan as  is  known  now  of  the  valley  of  the  Peace. 
Without  exception,  Canadian  men  of  letters  go  to  other 
countries  for  recognition,  but  not  so  all  our  men  of  deeds. 
Mackenzie  and  Mann,  "the  Brains  of  a  Trans-Conti- 
nental," stayed  in  Canada  and  put  their  genius  to  work 
here.  The  Canadian  Northern  is  the  product  of  Canadian 
minds  and  Canadian  money. 

walk  Edmonton  streets  for  ten  days  and  see  neither 

22 


WINNIPEG  TO  ATHABASCA  LANDING 

an  old  man  nor  an  old  woman.  The  government  and  the 
business  interests  are  in  the  hands  of  young  people  who 
have  adopted  modern  methods  of  doing  things ;  single  tax 
is  the  basis  of  taxation;  the  city  owns  its  public  utilities, 
including  an  interurban  street  railroad,  electric  lighting 
plant,  water-works,  and  the  automatic  telephone.  Mr.  C. 
W.  Cross,  the  Attorney-General  of  Alberta,  is  the  youngest 
man  in  Canada  to  hold  that  high  office.  During  the  first 
session  of  the  first  legislature  of  this  baby  province  less 
than  three  years  ago,  an  enabling  act  was  passed  for  a  uni- 


of   Edmonton 

versity.     Nowhere  else  have  I  been  sensible  of  such  a 
feeling  of  united  public-spiritedness  as  obtains  here. 

Down  in  the  river  valley  are  hundreds  of  people  living 
under  canvas,  not  because  they  are  poor  but  because  build- 
ing contractors  cannot  keep  pace  with  the  demand  for 
homes.  As  we  pass  these  tents,  we  are  rude  enough  to 
look  in.  Most  of  them  are  furnished  with  telephones  and 
the  city  water ;  here  a  bride  bends  over  a  chafing  dish ;  an- 
other glance  discloses  an  oil-painting  that  was  once  shown 
in  the  Royal  Academy.  From  the  next  tent  float  the 
strains  of  Beethoven's  Moonlight  Sonata,  and,  as  we  stop 

23 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

to  listen,  a  gentleman  and  his  wife  step  out.  An  auto 
picks  them  up  and  off  they  whirl  to  Jasper  Avenue.  The 
Lord  o'  the  Tents  of  Shem  disappears  into  his  bank  and 
Milady  drives  on  to  the  Government  house  to  read  before 
the  Literary  Club  a  paper  on  Browning's  Saul.  To  the 
tenderfoot  from  the  South  it  is  all  delightfully  disconcert- 
ing— oxen  and  autos  and  Browning  on  the  Saskatchewan ! 

The  Sunday  before  we  leave  Edmonton  I  find  another 
set  of  tents,  put  up  by  the  Immigration  Department,  where 
East-End  Londoners  are  housed  pending  their  going  out 
upon  the  land.  In  the  first  call  I  make  I  unearth  a  baby 
who  rejoices  in  the  name  of  Hester  Beatrice  Cran.  "H. 
B.  G,"  I  remark,  "aren't  you  rather  infringing  on  a  right, 
taking  that  trade-mark?"  Quick  came  the  retort,  "Ho! 
If  she  gets  as  good  a  'old  on  the  land  as  the  'Udson's  Bay 
Company  'as,  she'll  do !" 

Another  lady  in  the  next  tent  proudly  marshalled  her 
olive  branches.  "D'isy  and  the  baiby  were  born  in  the 
Heast  Hend.  They're  Henglish;  please  God  they'll  make 
good  Canaidians.  They're  tellin'  me,  miss,  there'll  be  five 
'undred  more  of  us  on  the  'igh  seas  comin'  out  to  Hed- 
monton  from  the  Heast  Hend,  all  poor  people  like  our- 
selves. I  often  wonder  w'y  they  don't  bring  out  a  few 
dukes  to  give  the  country  a  touch  of  'igh  life — it's  very 
plain  'ere." 

By  the  first  day  of  June  we  have  our  kit  complete  and 
are  ready  to  leave.  We  have  tried  to  cut  everything  down 
to  the  last  ounce,  but  still  the  stuff  makes  a  rather  formid- 
able array.  What  have  we?  Tent,  tent-poles,  type- 
writer, two  cameras,  two  small  steamer-trunks,  bedding 
(a  thin  mattress  with  waterproof  bottom  and  waterproof 

24 


WINNIPEG  TO  ATHABASCA  LANDING 

extension-flaps  and  within  this  our  two  blankets),  a  flour- 
bag"  or  "Hudson's  Bay  suit-case"  (containing  tent-pegs, 
hatchet,  and  tin  wash-basin),  two  raincoats,  a  tiny  bag 
with  brush  and  comb  and  soap — and  last,  but  yet  first,  the 
kodak  films  wrapped  in  oilcloth  and  packed  in  biscuit- 


The  Golden  Fleece  of  Saskatchewan 

tins.  The  bits  of  impedimenta  look  unfamiliar  as  we  take 
our  first  inventory,  but  we  are  to  come  to  know  them  soon 
by  their  feel  in  the  dark,  to  estimate  to  an  ounce  the  weight 
of  each  on  many  a  lonely  portage. 

At  seven  in  the  morning  the  stage  pulls  up  for  us,  and  it 
rains — no  gentle   sizzle-sozzle,   but   a   sod-soaker,   yea   a 
4  25 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

gully-washer!  The  accusing  newness  of  those  raincoats 
is  to  come  off  at  once.  Expansive  Kennedy  looks  askance 
at  the  tenderfoots  who  climb  over  his  wheel.  His 
Majesty's  Royal  Mail  Stage  sifts  through  the  town  pick- 
ing up  the  other  victims.  We  are  two  big  stage-loads,  our 
baggage  marked  for  every  point  between  Edmonton  and 
the.  Arctic  Ocean.  Every  passenger  but  ourselves  looks 
forward*to  indefinite  periods  of  expatriation  in  the  silent 
places.  We  alone  are  going  for  fun.  Our  one  care  is  to 
keep  those  precious  cameras  dry.  This  is  the  beginning 
of  a  camera  nightmare  which  lasts  six  months  until  we 
again  reach  Chicago. 

And  the  fellow-passengers?  Law  is  represented,  and 
medicine,  and  the  all-powerful  H.  B.  Co.  With  us  is  Mr. 
Angus  Brabant  going  in  on  his  initial  official  trip  in  charge 
of  H.  B.  interests  in  the  whole  Mackenzie  River  District, 
and  with  him  two  cadets  of  The  Company.  On  the 
seat  behind  us  sit  a  Frenchman  reading  a  French  novel, 
a  man  from  Dakota,  and  a  third  passenger  complain- 
ing of  a  camera  "which  cost  fifty  pounds  sterling"  that 
somehow  has  fallen  by  the  way.  Sergeant  Anderson, 
R.  N.  W.  M.  P.,  with  his  wife  and  two  babies  are  in  the 
other  stage. 

Kennedy,  the  driver,  is  a  character.  Driving  in  and 
out  and  covering  on  this  one  trail  twelve  thousand  miles 
every  year,  he  is  fairly  soaked  with  stories  of  the  North 
and  Northmen.  The  other  stage  is  driven  by  Kennedy's 
son,  who,  tradition  says,  was  struck  by  lightning  when  he 
was  just  forgetting  to  be  a  boy  and  beginning  to  be  a  man. 
Dwarfed  in  mind  and  body,  he  makes  a  mild-flavoured 
pocket-edition  of  Ouilp. 

26 


WINNIPEG  TO  ATHABASCA  LANDING 

The  roads  are  a  quagmire.  The  querulous  voice  of  the 
man  who  lost  his  camera  claims  our  attention.  "I  thought 
I  would  be  able  to  get  out  and  run  behind  and  pick  flow- 
ers." Turning  and  introducing  ourselves,  we  find  the 
troubled  one  to  be  an  English  doctor  going  north  off  his 
own  bat  with  the  idea  of  founding  a  hospital  for  sick 
Indians  on  the  Arctic  Circle. 


Sr..:___— » 


Irrigation  Ditch,  Calgary,  Alberta 

The  girlish  figure  of  a  teacher  struggling  through  the 
awful  mud  in  gum-boots  indicates  that  we  have  not 
travelled  beyond  the  range  of  the  little  red  schoolhouse. 
Stray  wee  figures  splashing  their  way  schoolward  look 
dreary  enough,  and  I  seem  to  hear  the  monotonous  drone 
of  "seven  times  nine,"  "the  mountains  of  Asia-,"  "the 
Tudor  sovereigns  with  dates  of  accession,"  and  other 

27 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

things  appertaining  to  "that  imperial  palace  whence  I 
came."  All  the  summer  afterwards,  when  mosquitoes  are 
plenty  and  food  scarce,  a  backward  thought  to  this  teacher 
making  muddy  tracks  toward  the  well  of  English  unde- 
filed,  brings  pleased  content. 

At  noon  it  clears,  and  as  we  "make  tea"  at  Sturgeon 


A  Waldorf-Astoria  on   the   Prairie's  Edge 

Creek  (the  Namao  Sepee  of  the  Indians),  the  first  of  the 
"stopping-places"  or  Waldorf-Astorias  of  the  wilderness, 
the  Doctor  has  his  will  and  gathers  violets,  moccasin 
flowers,  and  the  purple  dodecatheon.  As  we  pass  Lily 
Lake  he  remarks,  "This  reminds  me  of  the  Duke  of  Nor- 
folk's place  at  Arundel ;  it  is  just  like  this."  South  Dakoty 
returns,  "I  don't  know  him." 

Here  and  there  we  pass  clusters  of  Galician  huts.     In- 

28 


WINNIPEG  TO  ATHABASCA  LANDING 

stead  of  following  the  line  of  least  resistance  in  the  fertile 
plains  to  the  south,  these  people,  the  Mark  Tapleys  of  the 
prairies,  choose  cheap  land  up  here  for  the  pleasure  of  con- 
quering it  and  "coming  out  strong."  They  are  a  frugal 
people,  with  a  fondness  for  work,  a  wholesome  horror  of 
debt,  and  the  religious  instinct  strongly  insistent.  Off  on 
a  hillside  near  each  little  settlement  a  naked  cross  extends 
its  arms.  These  are  their  open-air  churches,  and  in  all 
weathers,  men,  women,  and  children  gather  at  the  foot  of 
the  cross  to  worship  the  God  of  their  fathers.  By  and  by, 
when  the  soil  has  yielded  to  their  labours,  with  their  own 
hands  will  they  build  a  church  and  without  debt  it  will  be 
dedicated.  The  idea  of  raising  an  imposing  church  and 
presenting  God  with  the  mortgage  does  not  appeal  to  the 
Galician. 

The  clean  sheets  at  "Eggie's,"  the  second  stopping- 
place,  are  attractive,  and  we  sleep  the  sleep  of  the  just. 
We  acknowledge  with  inward  shame  that  two  years  of 
city  life  have  given  us  the  soft  muscles  of  the  chee-chaco; 
we'll  have  to  harden  up  a  bit  if  we  are  to  reach  that  far- 
away ocean. 

Next  day,  midway  between  Edmonton  and  Athabasca 
Landing,  we  water  our  horses  at  the  Tautinau.  We  are 
standing  at  the  Height  of  Land,  the  watershed  between 
the  Saskatchewan  and  the  Athabasca.  This  little  ridge 
where  the  harebells  grow  divides  the  drops  of  rain  of  the 
noon-day  shower.  Some  of  these  drops,  by  way  of  the 
Saskatchewan,  Lake  Winnipeg,  and  Hudson  Bay,  will 
reach  the  Atlantic.  Others,  falling  into  the  Athabasca, 
will  form  part  of  that  yellow-tinged  flood  which,  by  way  of 

29 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Great  Slave  Lake  and  the  mighty  Mackenzie,  carries  its 
tribute  to  the  Frozen  Ocean.  These  last  are  the  drops  we 
follow. 

To  save  the  horses  we  walk  the  hills,  and  I  try  to  match 
giant  steps  with  Sergeant  Anderson.  Kennedy,  Junior, 
joins  us  and  has  a  knotty  point  to  settle  regarding  "the 
gentleman  wot  murdered  the  man."  It  is  hard  to  induce 
a  Mounted  Policeman  to  talk.  However,  to  be  striding 
Athabasca  Trail  with  the  hero  of  the  Hayward-King  mur- 
der-trial is  too  good  an  opportunity  to  lose,  and,  reluctantly 
rendered,  bit  by  bit  the  story  comes  out. 

Most  people  looking  at  a  map  of  Northwest  Canada 
would  think  it  a  safe  wilderness  for  a  live  man  or  a  dead 
man  to  disappear  in  with  no  questions  asked.  In  reality, 
it  is  about  the  worst  place  in  America  in  which  to  commit 
a  crime  and  hope  to  go  unpunished. 

In  September,  1904,  the  Indians  reported  to  the  Mounted 
Police  that  they  had  seen  two  white  men  in  the  early  sum- 
mer, and  that  afterwards  one  man  walked  alone,  and  was 
now  at  Lesser  Slave.  An  observant  Cree  boy  added, 
"The  dog  won't  follow  that  other  white  fellow  any  more." 
Sergeant  Anderson,  going  to  their  last  camp,  turned  over 
the  ashes  and  found  three  hard  lumps  of  flesh  and  a  small 
piece  of  skull  bone.  Convinced  that  murder  had  been 
done,  he  arrested  the  suspected  man  and  sent  him  to  Fort 
Saskatchewan  for  trial.  No  one  knew  the  identity  of 
either  the  dead  man  or  the  living.  In  front  of  the  old 
camp-fire  was  a  little  slough  or  lake,  and  this  seemed  a 
promising  place  to  look  for  evidence.  Sergeant  Ander- 
son hired  Indian  women  to  wade  in  the  ooze,  feeling  with 
their  toes  for  any  hard  substance.  In  this  way  were  se- 

30 


WINNIPEG  TO  ATHABASCA  LANDING 

cured  a  sovereign-case  and  a  stick-pin  of  unusual  make. 
The  lake  was  systematically  drained  and  yielded  a  shoe 
with  a  broken-eyed  needle  sticking  in  it.  Sifting  the  ashes 
of  the  camp-fire  and  examining  them  with  a  microscope, 
Anderson  discovered  the  eye  of  the  broken  needle  and  thus 
established  a  connection  between  the  camp  with  its  burnt 
flesh  and  the  exhibits  from  the  lake.  The  maker  of  the 
stick-pin  in  London,  England,  was  cabled  to  by  the 
Canadian  Government,  and  a  Mr.  Hayward  summoned  to 
come  from  there  to  identify  the  trinkets  of  his  murdered 
brother.  A  cheque  drawn  by  the  dead  Hayward  in  favour 
of  King  came  to  the  surface  in  a  British  Columbia  bank. 
Link  by  link  the  chain  of  evidence  grew. 

It  took  eleven  months  for  Sergeant  Anderson  to  get  his 
case  in  shape.  Then  he  convoyed  forty  Indian  witnesses 
two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  Lesser  Slave  to  Edmon- 
ton to  tell  what  they  knew  about  the  crime  committed  in  the 
silent  places.  The  evidence  was  placed  before  the  jury, 
and  the  Indians  returned  to  their  homes.  A  legal  tech- 
nicality cropped  up  and  the  trial  had  to  be  repeated.  Once 
more  the  forty  Indians  travelled  from  Lesser  Slave  to  re- 
peat their  story.  The  result  was  that  Charles  King  of 
Utah  was  found  guilty  of  the  murder  of  Edward  Hayward 
and  paid  the  death  penalty. 

This  trial  cost  the  Canadian  Government  over  $30,000, 
—all  to  avenge  the  death  of  one  of  the  wandering  units  to 
be  found  in  every  corner  of  the  frontier,  one  unknown  pros- 
pector. Was  it  worth  while?  Did  it  pay?  Yes,  it  paid. 
It  is  by  such  object-lessons  that  to  Indian  and  white  alike 
is  forced  home  the  truth  that  God's  law,  "Thou  shalt  not 
kill,"  is  also  the  law  of  Britain  and  of  Canada. 

31 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

We  are  still  on  foot,  when  a  cry  from  the  Kid  hurries 
us  to  the  hilltop.  Reaching  the  crest,  we  catch  our 
breaths.  Down  below  lies  the  little  village  of  "The  Land- 
ing." That  sparkling  flood  beyond  proves  the  Athabasca 
to  be  a  live,  northward-trending  river,  a  river  capable  of 
carrying  us  with  it,  and  no  mere  wiggly  line  on  a  map. 


CHAPTER  III 

ATHABASCA  LANDING 

"I  am  the  land  that  listens,  I  am  the  land  that  broods; 

Steeped  in  eternal  beauty,  crystalline  waters  and  woods ; 

I  wait  for  the  men  who  will  win  me — and  I  will  not  be  won  in 

a  day; 

And  I  will  not  be  won  by  weaklings,  subtle,  suave  and  mild, 
But  by  men  with  the  hearts  of  vikings,  and  the  simple   faith  of 

a  child." 

— Robert  Service. 

Athabasca  Landing,  a  funnel  through  which  percolates 
the  whole  trade  between  the  wheat-belt  and  the  Arctic,  is 


Landing 


the   true   gateway   of   the   North.     Seeing  our   baggage 
tucked  away  in  the  bar-room  of  the  Grand  Union  Hotel, 

33 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

and  snatching  a  hasty  supper,  we  walk  down  to  the  river, 
its  edges  still  encrusted  with  fragments  of  winter  ice.  It 
is  an  incomparable  sunset,  the  light  a  veritable  spilt  spec- 
trum, spreading  itself  with  prodigality  over  the  swift  river. 

The  Athabasca,  after  dipping  to  the  south,  here  takes  a 
sudden  northward  bend.  Its  source  is  in  the  crest  of  the 
continent  far  back  in  the  Committee's  Punch-Bowl  of  the 
Rockies,  the  general  trend  of  the  river  being  northeasterly. 
It  is  the  most  southerly  of  the  three  great  tributaries  of  the 
mighty  Mackenzie,  and  from  its  source  in  Rockies  to  em- 
bouchure in  Athabasca  Lake  it  is  about  seven  hundred  and 
seventy-five  miles  long ;  through  a  wooded  valley  two  miles 
wide  it  runs  with  perhaps  an  average  width  of  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  yards. 

We  are  in  latitude  55°  North,  and  between  us  and  the 
Arctic  lies  an  unknown  country,  which  supports  but  a  few 
hundred  Indian  trappers  and  the  fur-traders  of  the  Ancient 
Company  in  their  little  posts,  clinging  like  swallows'  nests 
to  the  river  banks.  The  wheat-plains  to  the  south  of  us 
are  so  fertile  and  accessible  that  the  tide  of  immigration 
has  stopped  south  of  where  we  stand.  But  that  there 
stretches  beyond  us  a  country  rich  in  possibilities  we  know, 
and  one  day  this  land,  unknown  and  dubbed  "barren"  be- 
cause unknown,  will  support  its  teeming  millions.  Chi- 
merical? Why  so? 

Parallels  of  latitude  are  great  illuminators.  When  we 
run  this  line  of  55°  westward  what  do  we  strike  in  Asia? 
The  southern  boundary  of  the  Russian  Province  of 
Tobolsk.  Superimpose  a  map  of  that  Province  on  a  map 
of  Canada  and  we  find  that  the  great  Mackenzie  water- 
way which  we  are  to  follow  cuts  Tobolsk  almost  directly 

34 


ATHABASCA  LANDING 

through  the  centre.  In  the  year  1900,  Russian  Tobolsk 
produced  twenty-one  million  bushels  of  grain,  grazed  two 
and  a  half  million  head  of  live  stock,  exported  one  and 
a  half  million  dollars'  worth  of  butter,  and  supported  a 
population  of  one  and  a  half  million  souls.  There  is  not 
one  climatic  condition  obtaining  in  the  Asiatic  Province 
that  this  similar  section  of  Canada  which  we  are  about  to 
enter  does  not  enjoy. 

Off  a  little  jetty  some  lads  are  fishing.  There  is  a 
camaraderie  felt  by  all  fishermen,  and  soon  I  have  a  rod 
and  access  to  the  chunk  of  moose-meat  which  is  the  com- 
munity bait.  Within  half  an  hour,  rejoicing  in  a  string  of 
seventeen  chub  and  grayling,  we  wend  our  Way  back  to  the 
little  village.  The  elements  that  compose  it?  Here  we 
have  a  large  establishment  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company, 
an  Anglican  and  a  Roman  Mission,  a  little  public  school, 
a  barracks  of  the  Northwest  Mounted  Police,  a  post  office, 
a  dozen  stores,  a  reading-room,  two  hotels,  and  a  black- 
smith shop,  and  for  population  a  few  whites  leavening  a 
host  of  Cree-Scots  half-breeds. 

Athabasca  Landing  is  part  of  the  British  Empire.  But 
English  is  at  a  discount  here ;  Cree  and  French  and  a  mix- 
ture of  these  are  spoken  on  all  sides.  The  swart  boat- 
men are  the  most  interesting  feature  of  the  place, — tall, 
silent,  moccasined  men,  followed  at  the  heel  by  ghostlike 
dogs.  From  this  point  north  dogs  are  the  beasts  of  bur- 
den ;  the  camel  may  be  the  ship  of  the  desert,  but  the  dog  is 
the  automobile  of  the  silences.  The  wise  missionary 
translates  his  Bible  stories  into  the  language  of  the  lati- 
tude. As  Count  von  Hammerstein  says,  "What  means  a 
camel  to  a  Cree?  I  tell  him  it  is  a  moose  that  cannot  go 

35 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

through  a  needle's  eye."  The  Scriptural  sheep  and  goats 
become  caribou  and  coyotes,  and  the  celestial  Lamb  is 
typified  by  the  baby  seal  with  its  coat  of  shimmering  white- 
ness. Into  the  prohibition  territory  that  stretches  north 
of  this  no  liquor  can  be  taken  except  by  a  permit  signed 
by  an  Attorney-General  of  Canada,  and  then  only  "for 
medicinal  purposes."  By  an  easy  transferring  of  epithets, 


Necessity  Knows  No  Law  at  Athabasca 


the  term  "permit"  has  come  to   signify  the   revivifying 
juice  itself. 

One  illusion  vanishes  here.  We  had  expected  to  find 
the  people  of  the  North  intensely  interested  in  the  affairs 
of  the  world  outside,  but  as  a  rule  they  are  not.  There  is 
no  discussion  of  American  banks  and  equally  no  mention 
of  the  wheat  crop.  The  one  conjecture  round  the  bar  and 
in  the  home  is,  "When  will  the  rabbits  run  this  year?" 

36 


ATHABASCA  LANDING 

The  rabbits  in  the  North  are  the  food  of  the  lynx;  cheap 
little  bunny  keeps  the  vital  spark  aglow  in  the  bodies  of 
those  animals  with  richer  fur  who  feed  upon  him.  Every 
seven  years  an  epidemic  attacks  the  wild  rabbits,  and  that 
year  means  a  scarcity  of  all  kinds  of  fur.  As  surely  as 
wheat  stands  for  bullion  in  the  grain-belt,  little  Molly  Cot- 
tontail is  the  currency  of  the  North. 

It  is  at  this  point  we  join  the  Fur-Brigade  of  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  Company  making  its  annual  transport  to  the 
posts  of  the  Far  North,  taking  in  supplies  for  trading 
material  and  bringing  back  the  peltries  obtained  in  barter 
during  the  previous  winter.  The  big  open  scows,  or 
"sturgeon-heads,"  which  are  to  form  our  convoy  have  been 
built,  the  freight  is  all  at  The  Landing,  but  for  three  days 
the  half-breed  boatmen  drag  along  the  process  of  loading, 
and  we  get  our  introduction  to  the  word  which  is  the  key- 
note of  the  Cree  character,—  -"Kee-am,"  freely  translated, 
"Never  mind,"  "Don't  get  excited,"  "There's  plenty  of 
time,"  "It's  all  right,"  "It  will  all  come  out  in  the  wash." 

When  the  present  Commissioner  of  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company  entered  office  he  determined  to  reduce  chaos  to 
a  methodical  exactness,  and  framed  a  time-table  covering 
every  movement  in  the  northward  traffic.  When  it  wras 
shown  by  the  local  representative  to  the  Cree  boatmen  at 
The  Landing,  old  Duncan  Tremble,  a  river-dog  on  the 
Athabasca  for  forty  years,  looked  admiringly  at  the 
printed  slip  and  said,  "Aye,  aye;  the  Commissioner  he 
makes  laws,  but  the  river  he  boss."  It  is  only  when  ice  is 
out  and  current  serves  that  the  brigade  moves  forward. 
Old  Duncan  knows  seven  languages, — English,  French, 
Cree,  Chipewyan,  Beaver,  Chinook,  Montagnais, — he 

37 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

speaks  seven  languages,  thinks  in  Cree,  and  prevaricates 
in  them  all. 


HYMNS 


in  the 

SYLLABIC    CHARACTERS 
for  tfte  use  of- 

THE  CREE  INDIANS 

in  the 
DIOCESE   OF 


1901 


PRIHT6D   AT 


sr. 


The  Missionary  Hymnal 

At  the  foot  of  the  hill  we  visit  the  English  parsonage, 
with  its  old-time   sun-dial   at  the  garden-gate.     Within, 

38 


ATHABASCA  HANDING 

we  find  what  must  surely  be  the  farthest  north  printing- 
press.     Here  two  devoted  women  have   spent  years   of 

61 

X  L(O  >  di-'S  b  P 

ro.  b  P-  <PO<TO<-"» 

Galatiftns  I..  10. 
*Je$«.  lover  of  my  soul"        8-7*5 


t>  CV« 

X  J>  ALPAV-c 


(T  b  P 


<r  p 

P  P 

for  the  Indians. 

their  lives  printing  in  Cree  on  a  hand-press  syllabic  hymns 
and  portions  of  the  Gospel  for  the  enlightenment  of  the 

39 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Indians.  We  wander  into  the  school  where  a  young 
teacher  is  explaining  to  his  uneasy  disciples  the  intricacies 
of  Present  Worth  and  Compound  Interest.  Idly  we  won- 
der to  what  use  these  bare-footed  half-Cree  urchins  will 
put  their  exact  banking  knowledge. 

Everywhere  around  us  the  wild  flowers  are  a  great  joy; 
we  hail  with  the  gladness  of  released  children  the  posies 
that  sweetened  childhood  meadows — the  dwarf  cornel 
(Cornel  Canadensis),  dandelions,  strawberry  blossoms, 
wild  roses,  the  pale  wood-violet  on  its  long  stern,  and 
amid  these  familiars  the  saskatoon  or  service-berry  bushes, 
with  blueberry  vines,  and  viburnums  of  many  kinds.  On 
the  street  the  natty  uniforms  of  the  Mounted  Police  are  in 
evidence,  and  baseball  has  penetrated  as  far  north  as  this. 
In  the  post  office  we  read, 

"It  is  decided  to  hold  sports  on  the  first  day  of  July.  The  Com- 
mittee promises  a  splendid  programme, — horse-races,  foot-races, 
football  match,  baseball  game.  There  will  also  be  prizes  for  the 
best  piece  of  Indian  fancy-work.  Dancing  will  be  in  full  swing 
in  the  evening.  All  welcome." 

Opposite  the  hotel  is  a  reading-room  built  by  a  Metho- 
dist parson  who  also  made  the  furniture  with  his  own 
hands;  magazines,  books,  writing-material,  games  are 
available  to  all.  This  practical  work  of  one  man  who 
accepted  the  responsibility  of  being  his  brother's  keeper 
appealed  to  us.  In  a  store  near  the  hotel  we  see  a  Cree 
boatman  purchasing  a  farewell  present  for  his  sweetheart. 
As  he  turns  over  the  fancy  articles,  we  have  bad  form 
enough  to  observe  his  choice.  He  selects  a  fine-tooth 
comb,  for  which  he  pays  fifty  cents,  or  as  he  calls  it,  "two 

40 


ATHABASCA  LANDING 

skins,"  and  asks,  as  he  tucks  it  into  his  jerkin,  if  he  can 
change  it  "if  she  doesn't  like  it." 

In  the  evening  it  rains,  and  the  room  assigned  us  be- 
comes a  living  illustration  of  the  new  word  we  have  just 
learned, — "muskeg,"  a  swamp.  Putting  the  precious 
cameras  on  top  of  the  bureau,  we  let  the  rest  of  the  things 
swim  at  their  pleasure.  Starting  with  the  rest  of  the 
unattached  community  of  Athabasca  Landing  to  go  down 
to  the  pool-room,  we  catch  sight  of  Dr.  Sussex  and  the 
Cree  priest,  who  have  found  a  little  oasis  of  their  own 
around  a  big  stove  in  the  upper  hall  and,  with  chairs  tilted 
back,  are  enjoying  some  portable  hospitality  from  below. 
The  doctor  arises  to  escort  us  through  the  flood,  and  when 
I  rally  him  about  his  liquid  refreshment,  he  says,  "Oh,  I 
had  lemonade." 

"I  see.     And  the  priest?" 

"He  had— what  he  liked." 

If  local  colour  and  local  smell  is  what  we  have  come 
north  for,  we  find  it  here.  Mr.  Brabant  comes  up  with 
"I  wonder  if  that  bunch  of  nuns  is  going  to  get  here  in 
time  to  take  scows  with  us,"  and  we  pass  into  the  billiard- 
room  and  watch  the  game.  The  players  gliding  round  in 
moccasins  are  all  half-breeds.  The  exclamations  are  for 
the  most  part  in  Cree  or  bad  French,  and  as  I  crowd  in 
looking  for  some  local  terms  all  that  I  hear  intelligible  is, 
"That  is  damn  close,  I  think  me." 

For  thirty-six  hours  on  end  it  rains.  That  roof  was 
full  of  surprises;  you  never  knew  where  it  would  spring 
a  fresh  leak.  One  room  is  a  little  better  than  the  rest, 
and  we  all  gather  there  and  make  the  best  of  it, — smok- 
ing, writing,  telling  yarns.  A  bumping  noise  from  across 
5  41 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

the  hall  and  the  cry  of  a  child  startles  us.  It  proves  to 
be  Sergeant  Anderson's  baby  whose  cradle  has  started 
afloat,  and  there  is  a  general  rush  to  rescue  Moses  from 
his  bulrushes.  Everybody  is  in  good  humour. 

As  we  calm  the  baby,  South  Dakota  says  "It  reminds 
me  of  the  Englishman  and  his  musical  bath."  We  demand 
the  story.  "Well,  a  rich  American  took  a  great  liking 
to  an  Englishman  he  had  been  travelling  with,  and  sent 
him  for  a  birthday  present  a  Yankee  invention  to  set  up 
in  his  country-house — a  musical  bath.  As  you  turned  on 
the  spigot,  the  thing  played  a  tune  while  you  were  wash- 
ing, and  sort  of  relieved  the  tee-deum.  The  two  gents 
met  next  Christmas  in  New  York,  and  the  Yankee  he  sez, 
'And  how  did  you  like  the  bath?'  'Oh,  thank  you  very 
much,  it  was  kind  of  you  indeed,  but  I  found  it  a  little 
irksome  standing  all  the  time,  you  know/  'Standing,  what 
the  blazes  do  you  mean?'  asked  the  Yankee.  'Well,'  says 
the  Britisher,  'the  tune  you  furnished,  you  know,  with  the 
bawth,  was  God  Save  the  King,  and  as  soon  as  it  began, 
you  know,  I  had  to  stand,  and  it's  rather  tiresome  taking 
your  bawth  standing,  you  know.'  ' 

Sergeant  Joyce  tells  how  at  a  Mounted  Police  dinner 
at  Fort  Saskatchewan  a  parson,  who  was  a  guest,  in  pro- 
posing a  toast,  facetiously  advised  his  entertainers  to  have 
nothing  to  do  with  either  a  doctor  or  a  lawyer.  It  was 
interesting  to  watch  the  parson's  face  when  there  arose 
to  reply  a  lawyer  and  a  doctor,  each  a  constable  in  the 
rank  and  file. 

Mrs.  Leslie  Wood  of  Athabasca  Landing  adds  her  quota 
to  the  Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn.  We  could  have  listened  to 
her  for  a  week  and  regretted  neither  the  rain  nor  the 

42 


ATHABASCA  LANDING 

waiting  scows.  As  a  girl  she  remembers  being  shocked 
at  seeing  men  hold  tin  cups  to  the  throats  of  newly- 
slaughtered  buffalo,  drinking  with  gusto  the  warm 
blood. 

"What  are  the  two  greatest  things  on  earth?"  Mrs. 
Wood,  as  a  young  girl,  asked  the  dusky  disciples  of  her 
Sunday  School  class.  "The  Queen  and  The  Company/' 
was  the  ready  response.  "And  of  these,  which  is  the 
greater?"  Little  Marten-Tail  rubbed  one  moccasin  over 
the  other,  and  the  answer  came  thoughtfully  in  Cree,  "The 
Company.  The  Queen  sometimes  dies,  but  The  Company 
never  dies." 

"The  Company,"  of  which  the  little  girl  spoke,  "The 
Governor  and  Company  of  Adventurers  trading  into  Hud- 
son's Bay,"  deriving  its  charter  in  1670  from  the  Second 
Charles  of  England,  is  the  oldest  chartered  concern  in  the 
world,  with  a  present-day  sphere  of  influence  as  large  as 
Great  Britain,  France,  Spain,  and  Germany  combined. 
From  lone  Labrador  to  the  Pacific  littoral  and  from  Winni- 
peg to  the  Frozen  Ocean  are  scattered  the  two  hundred 
and  fifty  fur-trading  forts  of  this  concern  in  charge  of 
its  two  thousand  strong  silent  servants.  Last  year  it  paid 
to  its  stockholders  a  profit  of  forty-five  per  cent  on  the 
invested  capital,  and  for  two  hundred  and  thirty-nine  con- 
secutive years  it  has  been  declaring  dividends.  The  motto 
of  the  Company,  Pro  Pelle  Cutcm,  is  prominently  displayed 
at  Athabasca  Landing.  Literally  translated,  the  phrase 
means  "Skin  for  skin";  but  why  the  promoters  should 
have  chosen  as  war-cry  the  words  which  Satan  used  when 
fighting  with  the  Lord  for  the  soul  of  Job,  is  not  so  ap- 
parent. 

43 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

As  we  watch  the  trading  goods  being  carried  in  the 
rain  from  warehouse  to  scows,  we  think  how,  weaving  its 
cross-Atlantic  way  through  the  centuries  and  joining  the 
periwigged  days  of  the  Stuarts  to  this  day,  the  one  man- 
made  thing  that  has  persisted  is  this  commerce-shuttle  of 
the  H.  B.  Co. 

In  the  days  when  The  Company  had  its  birth,  the  blind 
Milton  was  dictating  his  message  and  the  liberated  Bunyan 
preached  the  spoken  word,  the  iniquitous  Cabal  Ministry 
was  forming  in  England,  and  Panama  was  sacked  by 
Morgan  the  buccaneer.  New  York  merchants  of  Man- 
hattan met  every  Friday  at  noon  on  the  bridge  over  the 
Broad  Street  Canal  for  barter,  South  Carolina  was  settled 
on  the  Ashley  River,  Virginia  enacted  that  "all  servants 
not  being  Christians,  imported  into  this  country  by  ship- 
ping shall  be  slaves,"  and  her  Governor,  Sir  William 
Berkeley,  was  inspired  to  exclaim  piously,  "I  hope  we  shall 
have  neither  free  schools  nor  printing  these  hundred  years, 
for  learning  has  brought  disobedience  and  heresy  and  sects 
into  the  world,  and  printing  has  divulged  them.  God  keep 
us  from  both!"  It  was  not  until  two  years  later  that 
Addison  was  born,  and  that  Marquette  and  Joliet  sailed 
down  the  Mississippi,  even  as  we  now  are  essaying  the 
Athabasca. 

Unique  in  commercial  annals  is  the  Royal  Charter  which 
gave,  with  power  of  life  and  death,  to  the  Company  of 
Gentlemen  Adventurers,  less  than  twenty  in  number,  "for- 
ever hereafter"  possession  and  jurisdiction  over  a  country 
as  large  as  Europe.  Liberty  here  for  utter  despotism, 
the  widest  of  excesses.  We  marvel  that  from  the  first 
Prince  Rupert  of  the  Rhine  to  the  latest  Lord  Strathcona 

44 


ATHABASCA  LANDING 

and  Mount  Royal,  the  Governors  of  the  Ancient  Company 
have,  with  Duncan-like  demeanour,  borne  themselves  so 
meek  in  their  great  office. 

It  has  been  fashionable  to  paint  the  H.  B.  Co.  as  an 
agrarian  oligarchy.  Organized  for  the  purpose  of 
"making  fur"  before  the  time  of  the  Habeas  Corpus,  two 
decades  ahead  of  the  Bank  of  England,  sixty-two  years 
before  Benjamin  Franklin  began  publishing  "Poor  Rich- 
ard's Almanac,"  and  a  century  in  advance  of  Watt's  steam- 
engine,  it  is  true  that  The  Company,  throughout  the  years, 
devoted  itself  to  peltries  and  not  to  platting  town  sites. 
This  was  its  business.  From  the  beginning  it  has  con- 
sistently kept  faith  with  the  Indians ;  the  word  of  The  Com- 
pany has,  for  reward  or  for  punishment,  ever  been  worth 
its  full  face  value.  It  was  not  an  H.  B.  Scot  who  ex- 
claimed feelingly,  "Honesty  is  the  best  policy,  I've  tried 
baith." 

The  feeling  of  devotion  to  The  Company  is  as  strong  to- 
day as  it  ever  was.  When  the  present  Commissioner  took 
office  he  penetrated  the  North  on  a  tour  of  inspection.  At 
Athabasca  Landing,  since  it  was  not  known  just  when  the 
Head  would  arrive,  the  local  official  charged  all  his  clerks 
and  minions  to  be  ready  at  the  sound  of  a  whistle  to  salute 
and  fall  into  line  for  inspection.  The  call  to  arms  came 
on  Sunday  morning  during  divine  service.  Every  attache 
of  The  Company  with  one  exception  obeyed  the  signal. 
Young  Tom  Helly,  the  paid  organist,  stuck  to  his  post; 
and  next  day  he  was  called  on  the  carpet.  "It  was  a 
special  service ;  I  was  in  the  middle  of  the  anthem,  sir,  and 
didn't  like  to  leave  the  House  of  God."  "Couldn't  you 
show  some  respect?"  roared  the  local  officer.  Man  was 

45 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

near  in  Athabasca  Landing  and  God  far  away.  Down  in 
the  big  office  at  Winnipeg  is  a  Doomsday  Book  where 
the  life-record  of  every  servant  of  The  Company  is  kept, 


C.  C.  Chipman,  Commissioner  of  the  H.  B.  Co. 

for  no  man  who  has  ever  served  The  Company  is  lost 
sight  of.  When  there  is  a  good  fur-winter,  every  employe 
of  The  Company  is  handed  an  envelope  which  contains  a 
bonus-cheque, — ten  per  cent  of  his  yearly  salary. 


ATHABASCA  LANDING 

The  Commissioner  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  and 
the  head  of  one  of  Canada's  big  department  stores  were 
dining  together  at  a  Toronto  Club.  "After  six  o'clock  I 
don't  want  to  see  or  hear  of  an  employe — he  doesn't  exist 
for  me  until  eight  o'clock  next  morning,"  said  the  head  of 
the  department  store.  "Well,  I'm  more  curious  than  you," 
smiled  the  Commissioner  of  the  H.  B.  Co.,  "I  want  to  be 
reasonably  assured  of  what  every  man-Jack  of  my  people 
is  doing  all  the  time.  I  want  to  know  what  he  reads,  and 
if  he  treats  his  wife  well,  and  how  his  last  baby  is  getting 
along — you  see,  he's  a  working-partner  of  mine." 

There  came  out  of  Northern  British  Columbia  last  year 
the  Indian  wife  and  half-breed  daughters  of  an  H.  B.  Co. 
Factor.  They  were  bound  for  Montrealand  it  was  their 
first  trip  "outside."  The  Commissioner  at  Winnipeg  con- 
tradicts the  old  saw,  and  surely  has  "a  soul  above  a  beaver- 
skin"  ;  like  Mulvaney,  too,  he  "has  bowels."  Quickly  went 
forward  a  letter  to  a  tactful  woman  in  the  border-town 
through  which  the  visiting  ladies  must  pass — "Meet  them, 
and  see  that  they  get  the  proper  things  to  wear  in  society 
circles  in  Montreal.  I  don't  want  them  to  feel  ill  at  ease 
when  they  get  there."  Stories  like  these  give  us  glimpses 
of  the  kind  of  paternalism  exercised  by  the  Ancient  Com- 
pany, the  one  trust  that  has  never  ground  the  faces  of 
the  poor,  and  in  whose  people  to-day  appears  the  "con- 
stant service  of  the  Old  World." 

The  big  books  of  The  Company  a  year  or  two  ago  in 
unmistakable  round-hand  declared  that  one  Running  Rab- 
bit, lawful  widow  of  Blueskin,  was  entitled  to  draw  from 
the  coffers  clear-side  bacon  and  a  modicum  of  flour.  But 
one  quarterly  paysheet,  returned  to  Winnipeg  from  Fort 

47 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Churchill,  showed  that  Running  Rabbit  in  addition  to  her 
food  allowance  had  been  handed  out  forty  cents'  worth 
of  cotton.  Stern  enquiry,  backed  by  red-tape  and  The 
Company's  seal  as  big  as  a  saucer,  was  sent  up  to  the 
Churchill  Factor.  Why  had  the  allowance  of  Mrs.  Blue- 
skin  (nee  Running  Rabbit)  been  exceeded?  By  "return 
mail"  nine  months  later  the  Factor  reported, 

"The   widow's   gone, 

Her  tent's  forsaken, 
No  more  she  comes 

For  flour  and  bacon. 
N.  B.     The  cotton  was  used  for  her  shroud." 

The  Ancient  Company  was  penny-wise,  but  in  spite  of  the 
copybook  line,  not  pound-foolish,  as  its  dividend  paysheets 
conclusively  prove. 

There  is  no  desire  to  show  forth  these  silent  ones  of  the 
North  as  infallible  men  and  immaculate.  They  make 
many  mistakes;  they  were  and  are  delightfully  human, 
and  we  couldn't  picture  one  of  them  with  a  saintly  aureole. 
But  in  the  past,  as  in  the  present,  they  were  large  men; 
they  honoured  their  word,  and  you  couldn't  buy  them. 
Men  of  action,  whether  inside  fort  walls,  bartering  in  the 
tepee  of  the  Indian,  or  off  on  silent  trails  alone, — it  has 
been  given  to  each  of  them  to  live  life  at  firsthand.  In 
every  undertaking  the  determining  factor  of  success  is 
men,  and  not  money  or  monopoly.  And  because  the  North 
still  breeds  men  of  the  H.  B.  type,  the  eye  of  The  Great 
Company  is  not  dimmed,  its  force  not  abated. 

We  spoke  with  no  fewer  than  three  men  at  The  Landing 
who  came  into  the  North  in  the  year  of  the  Klondike  rush, 

' 


ATHABASCA  LANDING 

that  is,  just  ten  years  ago.  Into  the  human  warp  and 
woof  of  the  Great  Lone  Land  of  Northern  Canada  the 
Klondike  gold-rush  intruded  a  new  strand.  The  news 
of  the  strike  on  Yukon  fields  flashed  round  the  world  on 
wires  invisible  and  visible,  passed  by  word  of  mouth  from 
chum  to  chum,  and  by  moccasin  telegraph  was  carried  to 
remotest  corners  of  the  continent.  Gold-fever  is  a  disease 
without  diagnosis  or  doctor — infectious,  contagious,  and 
hereditary;  if  its  germ  once  stirs  in  a  man's  blood,  till 
the  day  of  his  death  he  is  not  immune  from  an  attack. 
The  discovery  of  gold-dust  in  Dawson  sent  swarming 
through  the  waterways  of  sub-Arctic  Canada  a  hetero- 
geneous horde, — gamblers  of  a  hundred  hells,  old-time 
miners  from  quiet  firesides,  beardless  boys  from  their 
books,  human  parasites  of  two  continents,  and  dreamers 
from  the  Seven  Seas. 

Coastwise  they  sought  the  North  by  steamers  from 
'Frisco,  Seattle,  and  Vancouver  Island,  and  of  the  numbers 
of  these  the  shipping  offices  have  some  records.  But  of 
that  vast  army  who  from  the  east  and  from  the  south 
travelled  inland  waterways  towards  the  golden  goal  no 
tabulation  has  ever  been  made.  Singly  they  went,  in 
groups,  and  by  partnerships  of  two  and  three.  There  was 
no  route  marked  out  by  which  they  were  to  reach  the 
glittering  streams  of  which  they  dreamed;  the  general 
direction  of  north  and  west  was  all  that  guided  them. 
Athabasca  Landing  was  the  portal  through  which  they 
passed,  and  by  every  northward  stream  they  travelled,— 
down  the  Athabasca  toward  the  Mackenzie  and  up  the 
Athabasca  to  the  Peace,  leaving  stranded  men  and  stranded 
boats  on  every  shore.  By  raft  and  dug-out,  scow  and 

49 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

canoe,  men  essayed  to  travel  rapid  waterways  who  had 
never  handled  craft  before,  and  the  Indians  still  point  out 
to  you  near  Grand  Rapids  on  the  Athabasca  the  site  of 
the  Mounted  Police  Station  where  Sergeant  Anderson  res- 
cued a  dozen  tenderfoots  from  drowning. 

To  the  Indians  of  this  vast  country  the  unwonted  inun- 
dation of  the  whites  was  a  revelation.  Before  this,  their 
knowledge  of  Europeans  had  been  limited  to  men  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  posts  and  the  few  black-robed  Fathers  of 
the  missions.  The  priests  had  told  the  Indians  that  in  the 
outside  world  French  was  the  accepted  language  of  the 
white  man  and  that  only  the  degraded  and  debased  spoke 
English.  Most  of  the  Northern  Indians  who  speak  Eng- 
lish will  tell  you  that  they  got  their  first  lessons  from  the 
Klondike  miners. 

And  what  of  the  men  who  followed  the  gleam?  Some 
reached  Dawson.  These  were  few.  Those  who  gained 
fortunes,  were  fewer  still.  In  the  old  books  of  the  H.  B. 
Co.  a  favourite  phrase  of  the  Factor  is  "a  band  of  Indians 
cast  up  from  the  east,"  "the  Express  from  the  North  cast 
up  at  a  late  hour  last  night."  On  the  way  to  Dawson,  and 
filtering  backward  from  that  point,  hundreds  of  gold- 
miners  are  "cast  up"  on  every  interior  shore.  Acting  as 
attaches  to  Hudson's  Bay  posts,  engaging  as  free  traders, 
manipulating  missionary  boats  for  Protestant  and  Roman 
Catholic  seekers  for  souls,  trapping  off  their  own  bat,  and, 
in  one  instance  at  least,  marrying  the  missionary,  they 
were  constantly  passing  us.  Round  the  home  hearths 
wives  wonder  about  them,  and  the  old  bent  mother  still 
prays  for  her  absent  son.  A  silence  like  this  once  entered 
upon  is  hard  to  break,  and  the  wanderer  in  the  silence 

5° 


ATHABASCA  LANDING 

wraps  tighter  about  him  the  garment  of  the  recluse.  Out- 
cropping from  the  strata  in  striking  individuality,  they  be- 
long to  a  different  race  to  the  plodding  people  of  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  posts,  and  are  interesting  men  wherever  you 
meet  them.  Keen  of  vision,  slow  of  speech,  and  with  that 
dreamy  look  which  only  those  acquire  who  have  seen 
Nature  at  her  secrets  in  the  quiet  places, — they  are  like 
boulders,  brought  down  by  the  glacial  drift  and  dropped 
here  and  there  over  the  white  map  of  the  North. 


CHAPTER  IV 

DOWN    THE    ATHABASCA    ONE     HUNDRED    AND     SIXTY-FIVE 
MILES  TO  GRAND   RAPIDS 

"Set  me  in  the  urge  and  tide-drift 
Of  the  streaming  hosts  a-wing ! 
Breast  of  scarlet,  throat  of  yellow, 
Raucous   challenge,   wooings   mellow — 
Every  migrant  is  my  fellow, 
Making  northward   with   the   Spring." 

— Bliss   Carman. 

If  you  have  to  do  with  Indian  or  half-breed  boatmen 
in  the  North  you  plan  to  begin  your  journey  in  the  evening, 
even  though  you  hope  to  run  only  a  few  miles  before 
nightfall.  This  ensures  a  good  start  next  morning, 
whereas  it  would  be  humanly  impossible  to  tear  men  away 
from  the  flesh-pots  (beer  pots)  of  Athabasca  Landing 
early  in  any  day.  It  took  these  chaps  all  the  afternoon 
to  say  good-bye,  for  each  one  in  the  village  had  to  be 
shaken  hands  with,  every  dog  apostrophized  by  name. 

The  Athabasca  Transport  of  which  we  form  joyous  part 
makes  a  formidable  flotilla:  seven  specially-built  scows  or 
"sturgeon-heads."  Each  runs  forty  to  fifty  feet  with  a 
twelve-foot  beam  and  carries  ten  tons.  The  oars  are 
twenty  feet  long.  It  takes  a  strong  man  to  handle  the 
forty-foot  steering-sweep  which  is  mounted  with  an  iron 
pivot  on  the  stern. 

Our  particular  shallop  is  no  different  from  the  others, 
except  that  there  is  a  slightly  raised  platform  in  the  stern- 

52 


DOWN  THE  ATHABASCA 

sheets,  evidently  a  dedication  to  the  new  Northern  Man- 
ager of  the  H.  B.  Co.  We  share  the  pleasant  company  of 
a  fourth  passenger,  Mrs.  Harding,  on  her  way  home  to 
Fort  Resolution  on  Great  Slave  Lake.  The  second  stur- 
geon-head carries  seven  members  of  the  Royal  Northwest 
Mounted  Police,  jolly  laughing  chaps,  for  are  not  they, 
too,  like  us,  off  duty?  Inspector  Pelletier  and  three  men 


A  "  Sturgeon-head  "  at  Athabasca 

are  to  go  with  our  Fur  Transport  as  far  as  Resolution  and 
then  diverge  to  the  east,  essaying  a  cross-continent  cut 
from  there  to  salt  water  on  Hudson  Bay.  For  this  pur- 
pose they  ship  two  splendidly  made  Peterborough  canoes. 
The  other  three  members  of  the  force  are  young  chaps 
assigned  to  Smith's  Landing  on  the  Slave  River,  sent  there 
to  protect  the  wood  bison  of  that  region,  the  world's  last 
wild  buffalo.  The  third  craft  we  observe  with  due  re- 

53 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

spect  as  "the  cook  boat."  The  remaining  four  scows 
carry  cargo  only, — the  trade  term  being  "pieces,"  each 
piece  from  eighty  to  a  hundred  pounds,  a  convenient 
weight  for  carrying  on  the  portages. 

June  6th  at  a  quarter  of  seven  saw  the  whole  populace  of 
Athabasca  Landing  on  the  river  bank— dogs,  babies,  the 
officials  of  the  Hudson's  Bay,  parson,  priest,  police,  and 
even  the  barkeep, — and  with  the  yelping  of  dogs  and 


"  Farewell,  Nistow  !  '' 

"Farewell,  Nistow!"  we  are  off.  We  are  embarked  on 
a  25oo-mile  journey,  the  longest  water  route  on  the  con- 
tinent, down  which  floats  each  year  the  food,  clothing,  and 
frugal  supplies  of  a  country  as  big  as  Europe. 

The  river  is  running  five  miles  an  hour  and  there  is  no 
need  of  the  oars.  The  steersman  is  our  admiration,  as 
with  that  clumsy  stern-sweep  he  dodges  rocks,  runs  riffles, 
and  makes  bends.  The  scow  is  made  of  green  wood,  and 
its  resilience  stands  it  in  good  stead  as,  like  a  snake,  it 

54 


DOWN  THE  ATHABASCA 

writhes  through  tight  channels  or  over  ugly  bits  of  wa- 
ter. Everybody  is  in  good  humour;  we  are  dreamers 
dreaming  greatly.  Why  should  we  not  be  happy?  Mrs. 
Harding  is  homeward-bound,  Mr.  Brabant  on  a  new  rung 
of  the  fur  ladder  of  preferment,  Inspector  Pelletier  and 
his  associates  starting  on  a  quest  of  their  own  seeking. 
Sitting  low  among  the  "pieces"  of  the  police  boat,  with 
only  his  head  visible  in  the  sunset  glow,  Dr.  Sussex  builds 
air-castles  of  that  eleemosynary  hospital  of  his  on  the 
Arctic  Circle.  The  cook  is  whistling  from  the  cook-boat. 
Five  years  ago  he  graduated  from  a  business  college,  but 
the  preparation  of  bannock  and  sow-belly  appeals  to  the 
blood  more  insistently  than  trial  balances  and  the  petty 
cash  book.  As  for  ourselves,  the  Kid's  smile  is  almost 
audible  as  she  runs  a  loving  hand  over  the  oilskin  cover 
of  the  camera.  A  favourite  expression  of  mine  in  the  lati- 
tudes below  when  the  world  smiled  was,  "Oh,  I'm  glad  I'm 
alive  and  white!"  On  this  exclamation  I  start  now,  but 
stop  at  the  word  "white."  North  of  Athabasca  Landing 
white  gives  place  to  a  tint  more  tawny. 

A  hundred  yards  out,  the  Policemen  are  boyish  enough 
to  launch  those  shiny  Peterborough^  just  to  try  them,  and 
in  and  out  among  the  big  sturgeon-heads,  debonair 
dolphins,  they  dart.  Then  comes  the  rain,  and  one  by 
one  the  clumsy  boats  turn  toward  shore.  There  are  some 
things  that  even  the  enquiring  mind  cannot  run  to  ground, 
things  that  just  happen  out  of  the  blue.  For  fifteen  suc- 
cessive springs  I  have  tried  to  discover  the  first  boy  who 
brought  marbles  to  school  when  marble-season  came  in, 
and  I  have  never  yet  been  able  to  put  my  finger  on  that 
elusive  history-maker.  So  on  this  voyage,  the  fleet  is 

55 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

started  and  stopped,  landings  are  made,  camping-places 
decided  upon,  and  no  ear  can  detect  the  sound  of  com- 
mand. 

The  scows  tie  up,  and  without  undressing  we  sleep  on 
board,  pulling  a  tarpaulin  over  us  and  letting  the  rain 
rain.  At  5  .'30  next  morning  we  hear  the  familiar  "Nis- 
tow!  Nistow!"  of  the  awakened  camp.  This  word  lit- 
erally means  "brother-in-law,"  but  it  is  the  vocative  used 
by  the  Cree  in  speaking  to  anybody  he  feels  kindly  toward. 
The  cook  makes  a  double  entry  with  bacon  and  bannock, 
and  there  is  exulting  joy  in  our  soul.  Who  would  nap- 
kins bear,  or  finger-bowls  ?  We  had  put  them  far  behind, 
with  the  fardels. 

It  is  the  season  of  lengthening  days  and  fading  nights. 
At  seven  o'clock  we  are  in  the  river  again,  and  for  three 
glorious  hours  we  float,  first  one  scow  in  front,  then  the 
other,  social  amenities  in  Cree  being  shouted  from  boat 
to  boat.  Then,  in  one  voice  from  three  boats,  "Mooswa !" 
and  far  beyond  white  man's  vision  the  boatmen  sight  a 
moose.  There  is  a  little  red  tape  about  the  ethics  of  taking 
off  those  precious  Peterboroughs  which  were  to  make  his- 
tory on  the  map,  and  in  the  delay  the  moose  wandered  into 
pleasant  pastures.  The  boatmen  were  very  much  dis- 
gruntled, as  the  moose  is  treasure-trove,  the  chief  fresh 
meat  that  his  world  offers  the  Indian.  From  here  to  the 
Arctic  are  no  domestic  animals,  the  taste  of  beef  or  mutton 
or  pork  or  chicken  is  unknown,  bread  gives  place  to  ban- 
nock (with  its  consequent  indigestion  "bannockburh"), 
and  coffee  is  a  beverage  discredited.  Tobacco  to  smoke, 
strong,  black,  sweetened  tea  to  drink  from  a  copper  ket- 
tle,— this  is  luxury's  lap. 

56 


DOWN  THE  ATHABASCA 

The  bowsman  points  to  a  rude  cross  on  the  right  bank 
where  a  small  runway  makes  in,  "Gon-sta-wa-bit"  (man 
who  was  drowned),  he  volunteers.  Yesterday  a  Mounted 
Policeman  buried  there  the  body  of  an  Indian  man,  his 
wife  and  his  baby,  who  fell  through  the  ice  in  a  dog-sled 
this  spring, — three  in  one  grave,  Lamartine's  trinity,  the 
Father,  the  Mother,  and  the  Child. 

It  is  Sunday,  and  we  have  music  from  a  li'l  fiddle  made 
by  a  squaw  at  Lac  Ste.  Anne.  Lac  la  Biche  River  we 
pass,  and  Calling  River,  and  at  five  in  the  evening  are  at 
Swift  Current,  Peachy  Pruden's  place,  and  then  Red  Mud. 
Sunday  night  is  clear  and  beautiful,  and  we  float  all  night. 
Making  a  pillow  of  a  squat  packing-case  consigned  to  the 
missionary  at  Hay  River,  and  idly  wondering  what  it 
might  contain,  I  draw  up  a  canvas  sheet.  But  it  is  too 
wonderful  a  night  to  sleep.  Lying  flat  upon  our  backs 
and  looking  upward,  we  gaze  at  the  low  heaven  full  of 
stars,  big,  lustrous,  hanging  down  so  low  that  we  can 
almost  reach  up  and  pluck  them.  Two  feet  away,  holding 
in  both  hands  the  stern  sweep,  is  the  form  of  the  Cree 
steersman,  his  thoughtful  face  a  cameo  against  the  shadow 
of  the  cut-banks.  At  his  feet  another  half-breed  is 
wrapped  in  his  blanket,  and  from  here  to  the  bow  the  boat 
is  strewn  with  these  human  cocoons.  The  reclining  friend 
breaks  the  silence  with  a  word  or  two  of  Cree  in  an  under- 
tone to  the  steersman,  a  screech-owl  cries,  from  high  over- 
head drops  down  that  sound  which  never  fails  to  stir 
vagrant  blood — the  "unseen  flight  of  strong  hosts  prophe- 
sying as  they  go."  It  is  the  wild  geese  feeling  the  old 
spring  fret  even  as  we  feel  it.  In  imagination  I  pierce 
the  distance  and  see  the  red  panting  throat  of  that  long- 
«  57 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

necked  voyageur  as  he  turns  to  shout  back  raucous  encour- 
agement to  his  long,  sky-clinging  V. 

Floating  as  we  float,  it  is  no  longer  a  marvel  to  us  that 
this  North  holds  so  many  scientific  men  and  finished  schol- 
ars— colonial  Esaus  serving  as  cooks,  dog-drivers,  pack- 
ers, trackers,  oil-borers.  The  not  knowing  what  is  round 
the  next  corner,  the  old  heart-hunger  for  new  places  and 
untrod  ways, — who  would  exchange  all  this  for  the  easy 
ways  of  fatted  civilization! 

At  five  in  the  morning  there  is  a  drawing-in  of  the  fleet 
to  Pelican  Portage.  Before  two  hours  have  passed  the 
grasshopper  has  become  a  burden,  and  it  is  102°  in  the 
shade,  and  no  shade  to  be  had.  We  are  now  a  hundred 
miles  from  Athabasca  Landing.  On  the  left  bank  we 
come  across  a  magnificent  gas-well  with  a  gush  of  flame 
twenty  or  thirty  feet  in  height. 

It  seems  that  eleven  years  ago,  seeking  for  petroleum, 
the  Dominion  Government  had  a  shaft  sunk  here;  their 
boring  apparatus  was  heavy,  the  plunger  with  its  attach- 
ment weighing  nearly  a  ton.  At  eight  hundred  feet  the 
operator  broke  into  an  ocean  of  gas,  and  the  pressure 
blew  him  with  plunger  and  appliances  into  the  air  as  a  ball 
comes  from  a  cannon-bore.  The  flow  of  gas  was  so  heavy 
that  it  clogged  his  drills  with  maltha  and  sand,  and  from 
then  to  now  the  gas  has  been  escaping.  To-day  the  sound 
of  the  escape  ricochets  up  and  down  the  palisaded  channel 
so  that  we  cannot  hear  each  other  speak.  There  is  gas 
enough  here,  if  we  could  pipe  it  and  bring  it  under  control, 
to  supply  with  free  illumination  every  city  of  prairie  Can- 
ada. It  has  destroyed  all  vegetation  for  a  radius  of  twenty 
yards ;  but,  oddly  enough,  outside  this  range  of  demarcation 

58 


DOWN  THE  ATHABASCA 

the  growth  is  more  luxuriant  and  comes  earlier  and  stays 
later  than  that  of  the  surrounding  country.  One  red- 
headed Klondiker,  ignorant  of  gas  and  its  ways,  ten  years 
ago  struck  a  match  to  this  escaping  stream,  was  blown  into 
the  bushes  beyond,  and  came  out  minus  hair,  eye-brows 
and  red  beard — the  quickest  and  closest  shave  he  ever  had. 
The  shells  of  birds'  eggs,  tea-leaves  from  many  a  cheering 
copper-kettle,  tufts  of  rabbit-hair,  and  cracked  shin-bones 
of  the  moose,  with  here  a  greasy  nine  of  diamonds,  show 
this  Stromboli  of  the  Athabasca  to  be  the  gathering-place 
of  up  and  down-river  wanderers.  You  can  boil  a  kettle 
or  broil  a  moose-steak  on  this  gas-jet  in  six  minutes,  and 
there  is  no  thought  of  accusing  metre  to  mar  your  joy. 
The  Doctor  has  found  a  patient  in  a  cabin  on  the  high 
bank,  and  rejoices.  The  Indian  has  consumption.  The 
only  things  the  Doctor  could  get  at  were  rhubarb  pills  and 
cod-liver  oil,  but  these,  with  faith,  go  a  long  way.  They 
may  have  eased  the  mind  of  poor  Lo,  around  whose  dying 
bunk  we  hear  the  relatives  scrapping  over  his  residuary 
estate  of  rusty  rifle,  much-mended  fishing-net,  and  three 
gaunt  dogs. 

We  pass  House  River,  and  the  devout  cross  themselves 
and  murmur  a  prayer.  The  point  is  marked  by  a  group 
of  graves  covered  with  canvas.  Here  years  ago  a  family 
of  four,  travelling  alone,  contracted  diphtheria,  and  died 
before  help  could  reach  them.  There  is  another  legend  of 
which  the  boatmen  unwillingly  speak,  the  story  of  the 
Wetigo,  or  Indian  turned  cannibal,  who  murdered  a  priest 
on  this  lonely  point,  and  ate  the  body  of  his  victim.  The 
taste  for  human  flesh,  Philip  Atkinson  assures  us,  grows 
with  the  using,  and  this  lunatic  of  long  ago  went  back  to 

59 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

the  camps,  secured  an  Indian  girl  as  bride,  carried  her  to 
this  point,  took  her  life,  and  ate  of  her  flesh.  It  is  a  grue- 
some story. 

Now  begin  the  rapids,  ninety  miles  of  which  we  are  to 


Grand  Rapids  on  the  Athabasca  River 

run.  This  rough  water  on  the  Athabasca  is  one  of  the 
only  two  impediments  to  navigation  on  the  long  course 
between  Athabasca  Landing  and  the  Polar  Ocean.  These 
first  rapids,  frankly,  are  a  disappointment.  The  water 
is  high,  higher  than  it  has  been  for  ten  years,  so  the 

60 


DOWN  THE  ATHABASCA 

boiling  over  the  boulders  is  not  very  noticeable.  The 
Pelican  Rapid  and  the  Stony  we  shoot  without  turning 
a  hair;  the  Joli  Fou  is  a  bit  more  insistent,  but,  as  the 
cook  says,  "nothing  to  write  home  about." 

We  drift  in  a  drowsy  dream  of  delight,  and  in  the 
evening  arrive  at  the  head  of  Grand  Rapids.  If  we  had 
looked  slightingly  on  the  rough  water  passed,  what  we 
now  see  would  satisfy  the  greediest.  We  tie  up  and  get 
a  good  view  of  what  lies  ahead,  and  get  also  our  first  real 
introduction  to  the  mosquito.  In  mid-stream  he  had  not 
bothered  us  much,  but  after  supper  it  rained  a  little,  the 
day  had  been  warm,  and  w ith  cymbals,  banners,  and  brass- 
bands,  he  comes  in  cohorts  to  greet  us.  The  scows  have 
their  noses  poked  into  the  bank,  the  men  have  built  smudge 
fires  in  front,  but  we  decide  that  the  best  way  to  escape 
the  mosquito  is  to  go  to  bed.  We  lie  down  in  the  stern- 
sheets  with  our  clothes  on,  make  night-caps  of  our  Stetson 
hats,  pull  the  veils  down  over  our  necks,  and  try  to  sleep, 
but  it  is  no  avail.  Each  one  of  these  mosquitoes  is  a 
Presbyterian  mosquito  and  it  has  been  ordained  that  this 
night  he  is  to  taste  of  white  blood.  It  rains  incessantly, 
and  that  hot  hole  in  which  we  lie  is  one  brown  cloud  of 
mosquitoes.  The  men  on  the  bank  have  finally  given  it 
up  as  a  bad  job,  and  they  set  round  the  fires  smoking 
and  slapping  different  parts  of  their  persons,  swearing 
volubly  in  English.  For  the  Cree  language  is  devoid  of 
invective.  In  the  morning  we  are  a  sorry  crowd,  con- 
versation is  monosyllabic  and  very  much  to  the  point. 
It  is  the  first  serious  trial  to  individual  good-humour. 
When  each  one  of  your  four  million  pores  is  an  irritation- 
channel  of  mosquito-virus  it  would  be  a  relief  to  growl 

61 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

at  somebody  about  something.  But  the  sun  and  smiles 
come  out  at  the  same  time,  and,  having  bled  together,  we 
cement  bonds  of  friendship.  What  did  Henry  the  Fifth 
say  on  the  eve  of  Agincourt, — "For  he  to-day  who  sheds 
his  blood  with  me  shall  be  my  brother"? 

Who  would  worry  about  mosquitoes  with  that  splendid 
spectacular  of  the  Grand  Rapids  at  our  feet?  The  great 
flood  (Kitchee  Abowstik)  is  divided  into  two  channels 
by  an  island  probably  half  a  mile  in  length,  with  its  long 
axis  parallel  to  the  flow  of  the  river,  and  this  island  solves 
the  question  of  progress.  The  main  channel  to  the  left  is 
impassable;  it  is  certain  death  that  way.  Between  the 
island  and  the  right  shore  is  a  passage  which  on  its  island 
side,  with  nice  manipulation,  is  practicable  for  empty  boats. 
Then  the  problem  before  us  is  to  run  the  rough  water  at 
the  near  end  of  the  island,  tie  up  there,  unload,  transfer 
the  pieces  by  hand-car  over  the  island  to  its  other  end, 
let  the  empty  scows  down  carefully  through  the  channel 
by  ropes,  and  reload  at  the  other  end. 

Between  the  bank  where  we  are  and  the  island  ahead  is 
a  stretch  of  roaring  water  dangerous  enough  looking. 
We  have  learned  ere  this,  however,  to  sit  tight  and  watch 
for  events.  The  careless  Indians  have  straightened  into 
keen-eyed,  responsible  voyageurs,  each  muscle  taut,  every 
sense  alert.  Our  boat  goes  first,  one  half-breed  with  huge 
pole  braces  himself  as  bowsman,  the  most  able  man  takes 
the  stern  sweep,  the  others  stand  at  the  oars.  Fifteen 
minutes  of  good  head-work  brings  us  to  the  island  and  we 
step  out  with  relief.  The  other  boats  follow  and  anchor, 
and  we  have  opportunity  at  close  range  to  inspect  these 
worst  rapids  of  the  Athabascan  chain.  The  current  on 

62 


DOWN  THE  ATHABASCA 

the  west  side  of  the  dividing  island  looks  innocent,  and 
we  understand  how  the  greenhorn  would  choose  this  pas- 
sage-way, to  his  destruction. 


Portage   at    Grand   Rapids    Island 

The  transportation  of  pieces  occupied  four  days,  every 
moment  of  which  we  enjoyed.  Grand  Rapids  Island  is 
prodigal  in  wild  flowers, — vetches,  woodbine,  purple  and 
pink  columbines,  wild  roses,  several  varieties  of  false  Sol- 
omon's seal,  our  persisting  friend  dwarf  cornel,  and,  treas- 

63 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

ure-trove,   our   first   anemone, — that   beautiful   buttercup 
springing  from  its  silvered  sheath— 

"And  where  a  tear  has  dropt  a  wind-flower  blows." 

I  measured  a  grass-stem  and  found  it  two  feet  three  inches 
high,  rising  amid  last  year's  prostrate  growth. 


Our  transport  at  Grand  Rapids  Island 

At  Grand  Rapids  Island  we  overtook  two  scows  which 
had  preceded  us  from  The  Landing  and  whose  crews  had 
waited  here  to  assist  in  the  transport.  It  gave  us  oppor- 
tunity to  observe  these  sixty  representative  half-breeds 
from  Lac  la  Biche.  Tall,  strong,  happy-go-lucky,  with  no 
sordid  strain  in  their  make-up,  they  are  fellows  that  one 
cannot  help  feeling  sympathy  for.  A  natural  link  be- 
tween the  East  and  the  West,  the  South  of  Canada  and 


DOWN  THE  ATHABASCA 

the  North,  they  have  bridged  over  the  animosity  and 
awkwardness  with  which  the  Red  race  elsewhere  has 
approached  the  White. 

In  a  glade  our  camp  is  made,  inside  our  tents  we  arrange 
the  mosquito-bar  (a  tent  within  a  tent  looking  something 
like  a  good-sized  dog-kennel),  and  here  we  lie  in  our 
blankets.  The  hum  of  the  foiled  mosquito  is  unction  to 


Cheese-shaped  Nodules,  Grand  Rapids  Island 

our  souls.     It  is  a  relief,  too,  to  remove  the  day's  cloth- 
ing, the  first  time  in  ninety-six  hours. 

The  Athabasca  here  cuts  through  a  cretaceous  sand- 
stone,— soft,  yellowish,  homogeneous.  In  passing  Grand 
Rapids  Island  it  has  a  fall  of  ninety  feet.  The  river  has 
weathered  the  banks  into  vertical  cliffs  four  or  five  hun- 
dred feet  high,  imbedded  in  which  are  wonderful  cheese- 
shaped  nodules,  some  the  size  of  baseballs,  some  as  big 
as  mill-stones.  The  river-bed  is  strewn  thick  with  these 
concretions  from  which  the  swift  current  has  worn  the 

65 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

softer  matrix  away,  and  many  of  the  stones  are  as  spher- 
ical as  if  turned  out  by  a  hand-lathe.  The  sandstone 
banks  opposite  the  island  are  overlain  with  a  stratum  of 
lignite  three  or  four  feet  thick,  which  burns  freely  and 
makes  acceptable  fuel.  Sections  of  fossil  trees  are  also 
seen,  and  the  whole  thing  is  fascinating,  one's  great  wish 
being  for  a  larger  knowledge  of  geology  so  as  to  read 
aright  this  strange  page  of  history  in  stone. 

Timber  along  the  Athabasca  has  suffered  much  from 
forest  fires.  What  we  see  is  largely  second  growth, — 
Banksian  pine,  fir,  spruce,  birch,  and  aspen.  The  aspen 
is  the  first  deciduous  tree  to  leaf.  Tall,  slender,  delicate, 
its  bole  is  clean  as  an  organ-pipe  and  its  terraced  feathery 
branches  seem  to  float  in  air. 

Across  the  roaring  water  swallows  are  nesting  in  the 
clayey  cliffs: — 

"This  guest  of  summer, 
The  temple-haunting  martlet,   does   approve, 
By  his  loved  mansionry,  that  the  heaven's  breath 
Smells  wooingly  here:  no  jutty,  frieze, 
Buttress,  nor  coign  of  vantage,  but  this  bird 
Hath  made  his  pendant  bed  and  procreant  cradle : 
Where  they  most  breed  and  haunt,  I  have  observed, 
The  air  is  delicate." 

We  learn  that  half-breeds  share  the  Scottish  supersti- 
tion that  it  is  unlucky  to  disturb  bank-swallows. 

Others  of  the  migrant  host  travel  in  upper  air  more 
quickly  than  we  on  water,  and  have  left  us  far  behind,— 
swans,  the  Canada  goose,  great  flocks  of  brant,  waveys 
by  the  millions,   followed  by  their  cousins  of   the  duck 
tribe, — spoon-bill,    canvas-back,    mallard,    pin-tail,    ring- 

66 


DOWN  THE  ATHABASCA 

neck,  wood  duck,  and  merganser.  The  geese  will  not  stop 
until  they  have  passed  the  Arctic  Circle.  Why  people  use 
the  word  "goose"  as  synonym  for  stupidity  is  beyond  the 
ken  of  the  ordinary  observer.  The  text-books  tell  us 
tritely  that  the  goose  lives  to  be  a  hundred  years.  If  she 
does,  she  may  exclaim  with  the  Churchmen,  "Yet  are  my 
years  but  labour  and  sorrow."  The  little  chaps  who  have 
their  birthday  parties  among  sub-Arctic  reeds  are  sur- 
rounded with  enemies  from  the  first  day  they  crack  their 
baby  shells.  Lynx  and  raccoon  prey  upon  them  by  land, 
eagles  and  owls  swoop  upon  them  as  they  swim;  and  as 
with  one  eye  they  scan  the  sky  above  them,  a  greedy  pike 
is  apt  to  snap  their  web-feet  from  under  them  and  draw 
them  to  a  watery  grave. 

The  cadets  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  exchange 
courtesies  with  the  Mounted  Police,  each  considering  him- 
self a  distinct  cut  above  the  other.  One  Mounted  Police- 
man, whose  duty  it  had  been  to  escort  the  crazed  Russian 
Doukhobortsi  on  one  of  their  "altogether"  pilgrimages, 
is  hailed  across  the  circle,  "Here,  lend  us  your  knife,  you 
nursemaid  to  the  Douks."  "Who  spoke?"  yawned  the 
Policeman.  "Was  it  that  fur-pup  of  the  Hudson's  Bay?" 
"Yes,"  retorted  the  first,  "and  I'm  glad  I'm  it;  you  couldn't 
pay  me  to  wear  a  red  coat  and  say  'Sir'  to  a  damned  little 
Frenchman,  even  if  you  are  going  to  blaze  a  trail  to  Hud- 
son Bay." 

Some  one  asks  Sergeant  Joyce  to  tell  his  Bible  story. 
He  says,  "Oh,  about  Coal-Oil  Johnnie!  It  was  the  cub's 
first  year  in  the  service,  and  he  got  off  with  some  civilians 
and  was  drunk  for  a  week.  When  he  was  in  the  Guard 
Room  awaiting  court-martial  he  had  lots  of  time  'to  sit 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

in  clink,  admirin'  'ow  the  world  was  made.'  Likewise  he 
was  very  dry.  There  was  nothing  for  him  to  amuse  him- 
self with  but  a  paper  of  pins.  He  took  the  pillow  of  his 
cot  and  used  the  whole  bunch  of  pins  in  working  on  it 
the  one  word  'Hagar,'  in  letters  six  inches  high.  The 
inspecting  officer  came  in  and  the  pin  sign  caught  his  eye. 
He  spelled  it  out  letter  by  letter,  'H-a-g-a-r, — what  was 
the  matter  with  him?'  Johnnie  retorted,  'The  him  was  a 
her,  and  she  died  of  thirst  in  the  wilderness.'  The  in- 
specting officer  says  to  Johnnie,  Well,  that  would  never 
happen  to  you.' ' 

A  peculiar  drumming  wafts  from  the  shore-line.  "Pa- 
pas-ku,"  says  one  of  the  Cree  lads,  pulling  his  pipe  from 
his  mouth  and  listening.  Young  Hudson's  Bay  to  my 
enquiring  look  returns,  "The  Canadian  ruffed  grouse," 
which  Sussex  elucidated,  "Bonasa  umbellus  togata"  at 
which  we  all  feel  very  much  relieved. 

The  Kid  was  pressing  specimens,  and,  holding  up  a 
branch,  the  Mounted  Policeman  next  her  said,  "Young 
jackpine,  I  think."  "It  belongs  to  the  Conifer  family," 
corrects  the  Doctor.  "Oh!"  says  the  Mounted  Police- 
man, with  a  sniff,  "then  we'll  give  it  back  to  'em  the  next 
time  one  of  the  Conifer  boys  comes  round."  The  man  of 
the  river  and  the  woods  hates  a  Latin  name,  and  any  stray 
classic  knowledge  you  have  is  best  hidden  under  a  napkin. 
The  descriptive  terms  men  use  here  are  crisp  and  to  the 
point.  The  vicious  habit  of  giving  birds  bad  names  is 
one  that  grows,  and  you  never  know  when  the  scientific 
have  come  to  a  finality.  For  instance,  little  Robin  Red- 
Breast  ("the  pious  bird  with  scarlet  breast"  whose  nest 
with  four  eggs  the  Kid  discovered  to-day),  has  succes- 

68 


DOWN  THE  ATHABASCA 

sively  lived  through  three  tags,  "Turdus  migratorius" 
"Planesticus  migratorius"  and  "Turdus  canadensis."  If 
he  had  not  been  an  especially  plucky  little  beggar  he  would 
have  died  under  the  libels  long  ago.  For  my  own  part 
I  cannot  conceive  how  a  man  with  good  red  blood  in  his 
veins  could  look  a  chirky  little  robin  in  the  eye  and  call 
him  to  his  face  a  "Planesticus  migratorius,"  when  as 
chubby  youngster  he  had  known  the  bird  and  loved  him 
as  Robin  Red-Breast.  One  is  inclined  to  ask  with  sus- 
picion, "Is  naming  a  lost  art?"  Any  new  flower  discov- 
ered these  days,  every  clever  invention  in  the  realm  of 
machinery,  is  forthwith  saddled  with  an  impossible  name. 
If  it  had  not  been  easy  to  clip  the  term  "automobile"  down 
to  the  working  stub  "auto,"  the  machine  would  never  have 
run  our  streets.  Again,  the  decimal  system  is  conceded 
to  be  far  ahead  of  the  asinine  "five  and  one-half  yards  make 
one  rod,  pole  or  perch" ;  the  only  reason  why  the  common- 
sense  thing  does  not  supersede  the  foolish  one  is  that  the 
sensible  measurement  has  the  fool  tag  on  it.  Who  could 
imagine  ever  going  into  a  store  and  asking  for  seven  deci- 
metres and  nine  centimetres  of  picture-moulding,  or  drop- 
ping into  the  corner  grocery  to  buy  a  hectolitre  of  green 
onions  ?  When  man  dug  gold  and  iron  and  tin  out  of  the 
earth  he  made  things  with  them.  Now  when  we  discover 
a  new  mineral  we  dub  it  "molybdenum"  and  let  it  rust  in 
innocuous  ease.  When  man  loses  the  art  of  nervous 
speech,  his  power  of  action  goes  with  it.  And  as  we 
ruminate,  the  Bonasa  umbellus  togata  drums  on. 

When  we  pass  the  parallel  of  55°  N.  we  come 
into  a  very  wealth  of  new  words,  a  vocabulary  that  has 
found  its  way  into  no  dictionary  but  which  is  accepted  of 

69' 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

all  men.  The  steep  bank  opposite  us  is  a  "cut  bank/'  an 
island  or  sandbar  in  a  river  is  a  "batture."  A  narrow 
channel  is  called  a  "she-ny,"  evidently  a  corruption  of  the 
French  chenal.  When  it  leads  nowhere  and  you  have 
to  back  down  to  get  out,  you  have  encountered  a  "blind 
she-ny."  The  land  we  have  come  from  is  known  as  "Out- 
side" or  "Le  Grand  Pays."  Anywhere  other  than  where 
we  sit  is  "that  side,"  evidently  originating  from  the  view- 
point of  a  man  to  whom  all  the  world  lay  either  on  this 
side  or  that  side  of  the  river  that  stretched  before  him. 
When  you  obtain  credit  from  a  Hudson's  Bay  store,  you 
"get  debt."  A  Factor's  unwillingness  to  advance  you 
goods  on  credit  would  be  expressed  thus,  "The  Company 
will  give  me  no  debt  this  winter."  From  here  northward 
the  terms  "dollars"  and  "cents"  are  unheard.  An  article 
is  valued  at  "three  skins"  or  "eight  skins"  or  "five  skins," 
harking  back  to  the  time  when  a  beaver-skin  was  the  unit 
of  money.  The  rate  of  exchange  to-day  is  from  four 
skins  to  two  skins  for  a  dollar.  Trapping  animals  is  "mak- 
ing fur."  "I  made  no  fur  last  winter  and  The  Company 
would  give  me  no  debt,"  is  a  painful  picture  of  hard  times. 
Whenever  an  Indian  has  a  scanty  larder,  he  is  "starving," 
and  you  may  be  "starving"  many  moons  without  dying  or 
thinking  of  dying.  "Babiche"  in  the  North  is  the  tie  that 
binds,  and  "sinew"  is  the  thread,  babiche  being  merely 
cured  rawhide  from  moose  or  caribou,  the  sinew  the  longi- 
tudinal strands  taken  from  either  side  of  the  spinal  column 
of  the  same  animals. 

There  is  but  one  thing  on  this  planet  longer  than  the 
equator,  and  that  is  the  arm  of  British  justice,  and  the 
Mounted  Police,  these  chaps  sprawling  at  our  feet,  are  the 

70 


DOWN  THE  ATHABASCA 

men  who  enforce  it.  The  history  of  other  lands  shows  a 
determined  fight  for  the  frontier,  inch  by  inch  advance- 
ment where  an  older  civilization  pushes  back  the  native, — 


Scouts  of  the  Royal  Northwest  Mounted  Police 

there  are  wars  and  feuds  and  bloody  raids.  Not  so  here. 
When  the  homesteader  comes  down  the  river  we  are 
threading  and,  in  a  flood,  colonization  follows  him,  he  will 
find  British  law  established  and  his  home  ready.  The 
most  compelling  factor  making  for  dignity  and  decency 

71 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

in  this  border-country  is  the  little  band  of  red-coated 
riders,  scarcely  a  thousand  in  number.  Spurring  singly 
across  the  plains  that  we  have  traversed  since  leaving 
Winnipeg,  they  turn  up  on  lone  riverway  or  lakeside  in 
the  North  just  when  most  wanted. 

Varied  indeed  is  this  man's  duty, — "nursemaid  to  the 
Doukhobor"  was  a  thrust  literally  true.  His,  too,  was  the 
task  on  the  plains  of  seeing  that  the  Mormon  doesn't  marry 
overmuch.  He  brands  stray  cattle,  interrogates  each  new 
arrival  in  a  prairie-waggon,  dips  every  doubtful  head  of 
stock,  prevents  forest-fires,  keeps  weather  records,  escorts 
a  lunatic  to  an  asylum  eight  hundred  miles  away,  herds 
wood  bison  on  the  Slave,  makes  a  cross-continent  dash 
from  Great  Slave  Lake  to  Hudson  Bay,  preserves  the  bal- 
ance of  power  between  American  whaler  and  Eskimo  on 
the  Arctic  edge! 

At  one  time  the  roll-call  of  one  troup  of  Mounted  Police 
included  in  its  rank  and  file  three  men  who  had  held  com- 
missions in  the  British  service,  an  ex-midshipman,  a  son 
of  a  Colonial  Governor,  a  grandson  of  a  Major-General, 
a  medical  student  from  Dublin,  two  troopers  of  the  Life 
Guards,  an  Oxford  M.  A.,  and  half  a  dozen  ubiquitous 
Scots.  Recently  an  ex-despatch-bearer  from  De  Wet  joined 
the  force  at  Regina,  and  although  the  cold  shoulder  was 
turned  on  him  for  a  day  or  two,  he  soon  made  good.  One 
of  the  young  fellows  stretched  before  us,  now  going  to 
Fort  Smith  to  round  up  wood  bison,  was  born  in  Tasmania, 
ran  away  from  school  at  fourteen,  sheared  sheep  and 
hunted  the  wallaby,  stoked  a  steamer  from  Australia  to 
England  and  from  England  to  Africa,  and  in  the  early 
days  of  bicycles  was  a  professional  racer. 

72 


DOWN  THE  ATHABASCA 

Constable  Walker,  lying  lazily  on  his  back  blowing  blue 
spirals  into  the  air,  has  in  the  long  winter  night  made  more 
than  once,  with  dogs,  that  perilous  journey  from  the 
Yukon  to  the  Mackenzie  mouth  (one  thousand  miles  over 
an  unknown  trail),  carrying  to  the  shut-in  whalers  their 
winter  mail.  On  one  of  these  overland  journeys  he  cut  off 
the  tips  of  his  four  toes.  His  guide  fainted,  but  Walker 
took  babiche  and,  without  a  needle,  sewed  up  the  wound. 
On  this  trip  he  was  fifty-seven  days  on  the  trail,  during 
five  days  of  which  the  thermometer  hovered  between  six- 
ty-two and  sixty-eight  degrees  below. 


CHAPTER  V 

NINETY    MILES    OF    RAPIDS 

"On  wan  dark  night  on  Lac  St.  Pierre, 

De  win'  she  blow,  blow,  blow, 
An'  de  crew  of  de  wood  scow  'Julie  Plante9 

Got  scar't  an'  run  below— 
For  de  win'  she  blow  lak  hurricane 

Bimeby  she  blow   some  more, 
An'  de  scow  bus'  up  on  Lac  St.  Pierre 
Wan   arpent   from   de   shore." 

— Dr.  Drummond. 

This  morning  we  are  to  leave  the  Island;  it  is  June  I2th 
and  Friday.  The  daylight  lengthens  from  day  to  day 
and  last  night  at  half  past  ten  underneath  the  mosquito- 
bar  within  the  tent,  it  was  light  enough  to  thread  a  needle. 
We  have  mending  to  do  each  night,  and  dragging  clothes 
behind  the  boat  makes  a  satisfactory  kind  of  progressive 
laundry.  At  dusk  we  had  seen  an  empty  scow  floating 
down  river,  adrift  from  Athabasca  Landing.  In  the  mid- 
dle of  Grand  Rapids  she  broke  amidships,  but  held  to- 
gether until  in  the  darkness  she  floated  beyond  our  ken. 

Trouble  of  our  own  awaits  us.  With  no  one  noting,  an 
adventurous  scow,  with  all  her  precious  cargo,  has  pulled 
loose  from  her  moorings.  By  the  time  the  Cree  watchman 
discovers  that  the  "Go-Quick-Her"  has  taken  the  bit  in 
her  teeth,  the  runaway  with  tail-sweep  set  has  turned  the 
next  corner  of  the  Athabasca.  Great  excitement!  Billy 
Loutit  and  Emile  Fosseneuve  borrow  the  Police  canoe  and 

74 


NINETY  MILES  OF  RAPIDS 

go  in  chase.  It  is  such  a  rough  bit  of  water  that  we  hold 
our  breaths,  for  a  false  stroke  means  death  to  both;  but 
that  false  stroke  does  not  come.  Billy  Loutit  knows  this 
river  as  we  know  the  borders  and  shrubs  in  our  garden- 
bed. 

This  accident  causes  everyone  to  look  grave.     The  Ed- 
monton value  of  the  cargo  is  over  two  thousand  dollars, 


Towing  the  Wrecked  Barge  Ashore 

but  it  is  a  loss  that  cannot  be  measured  in  dollars  and  cents. 
These  wrecked  goods,  gaily  sailing  down  the  Athabasca, 
cannot  be  duplicated  at  some  convenient  grocery  around 
the  corner. 

We  have  learned  that  any  untoward  happening  means 
a  half  day's  delay.  Philip  Atkinson  calls  me  to  one  side 
to  suggest  that  it  would  be  a  "clear  waste"  to  leave  behind 
the  eggs  of  "that  duck's  nest  I  showed  you  the  day  we 
came."  Atkinson  is  a  half-breed  with  a  Hercules-build 

75 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

who  looks  forty-five  and  owns  up  to  sixty.  He  and  I 
chatted  over  the  mallard  eggs  and  my  collection  of  wild 
flowers,  he  respecting  the  preservative  art  and  I  in  full 
awe  of  that  art  gastronomic  of  his  which  gulps  the  Mal- 
lards-in-embryo,  sans  fourchette,  sans  salt,  sans  ceremony. 

They  are  an  interesting  study,  these  half-breeds;  it 
means  much  to  each  on  which  side  of  the  English  Channel 
his  father  had  birth.  When  a  Frenchman  marries  an 
Indian  woman  he  reverts  to  her  scale  of  civilization ;  when 
a  Scot  takes  a  native  to  wife  he  draws  her  up  to  his.  Our 
crew  live  at  Lac  la  Biche  and  were  engaged  last  winter  for 
their  season's  work  at  from  twenty  to  forty  dollars  a  month, 
with  board  and  moccasins.  They  walked  a  hundred  miles 
to  Athabasca  Landing  to  connect  with  their  summer's  job, 
and  the  absolute  certainty  of  regular  meals  just  now  ap- 
peals. They  get  three  meals  a  day  going  with  the  cur- 
rent, and  four  while  tracking  back,  writh  meals  thrown  in 
when  anything  unusual  happens  or  a  moose  is  killed.  One 
cannot  help  wondering  how  that  elastic  term  "the  law  of 
heredity"  works  out  with  these  people,  cut  off  from  the 
lives  their  fathers  led  and  from  the  free  woods-life  of  the 
pre-civilization  Indian. 

Philip,  duck-stuffed  but  untroubled  by  "that  full  feeling 
after  eating,"  lights  his  pipe  and  looks  back  through  the 
years.  "My  father  belonged  to  The  Company,  my  mother 
was  an  Ojibway  from  the  Lake  of  the  Woods  country. 
My  father  went  back  to  the  Old  Country  when  I  was  seven, 
leaving  me  to  an  uncle  to  be  educated,  and  I  don't  know 
'B'  from  a  bull's  foot.  He  put  me  to  work  on  the  wood- 
pile from  morning  till  night.  When  my  father  came  back 
after  twelve  years  and  found  me  ignorant,  he  cried  like 


NINETY  MILES  OF  RAPIDS 

a  baby.  I  have  no  education,  but,"  with  a  contemplative 
puff,  "I  have  friends  wherever  I  go."  Philip  is  good  to 
look  at  and  he  is  a  linguist,  speaking  Cree,  French,  and 
excellent  English  with  a  delightful  Scotch  accent.  He  is 
an  ardent  admirer  of  the  H.  B.  Company.  "They  always 
kept  their  word  with  a  man,  and  when  they  had  done  with 
him,  returned  him  without  cost  to  his  old  home."  Philip 
and  his  two  sons  were  the  first  to  shoot  the  Grand  Rapids, 
and  he  tells  us  that  this  stretch  of  the  Athabasca  River  has 
been  used  only  twenty  years.  Before  that  time  people 
from  the  North  reached  Winnipeg  by  the  Clearwater. 
Philip  is  a  Loyalist.  During  the  half-breed  rebellion  of 
1885  he  carried  dispatches  to  Middleton  and  Otter,  going 
seventy-five  miles  one  day  on  foot.  He  had  his  horse,  "a 
draught-horse  as  black  as  a  crow,"  taken  from  him  twice, 
got  through  the  lines  and  stole  another,  and  tells  proudly 
how  for  his  deed  of  valor  he  was  presented  with  an  As- 
somption  belt. 

At  last  we  are  off,  keeping  sharp  look-out  for  the  lost 
sco\v.  Buffalo  River,  where  we  pull  up  for  the  night, 
is  a  recognized  camping-place.  The  men  know  where  to 
put  their  hands  on  old-time  tent-poles,  the  boys  dig  out 
shin-bones  of  the  moose, — the  relics  of  some  former  feast, 
—which  they  gnaw  as  a  puppy  mumbles  an  old  bone. 

Another  manifestation  of  gas  is  here.  It  bubbles  up 
on  the  shore  and  through  the  water  at  the  boat's  bow, 
and  as  we  strike  a  match  the  whole  surface  flames  like 
the  brandy  on  a  Christmas  plum-pudding.  On  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  river  are  "lobsticks,"  a  new  word  to  us  and 
a  new  thing.  To  stand  as  a  living  totem-pole,  the  Indians 
select  on  a  striking  promontory  a  tall  spruce  and  from  a 

77 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

section  of  the  trunk  lop  all  the  branches  except  two,  which 
are  left  as  wings.  If  the  lobstick  is  to  stand  a  monument 
to  a  certain  man  or  party,  the  names  of  those  to  be  hon- 
ored are  written  in  Cree  on  an  attached  slab.  We  were  to 
notice  lobsticks  from  point  to  point  along  the  rest  of  our 
journey,  some  of  them  indicating  good  hunting-grounds 
or  fishing-places  back  from  the  shore,  but  most  of  them 
memorials  of  happenings  on  the  river. 

The  Little  Buffalo  carries  to  the  Athabasca  its  noisy 
current  between  two  high  escarpments,  and  on  the  shelf 
leading  back  from  the  banks  of  the  main  stream  is  a  far- 
reaching  plateau  of  splendidly-fertile  land.  In  the  scow 
next  us  the  two  young  Crees  who  are  preparing  the  food 
for  our  evening .  "meat-su"  carry  on  a  religious  contro- 
versy as  they  slice  the  sow-belly.  We  gather  that  one  has 
been  taken  into  the  Protestant  fold  and  that  the  other 
follows  the  priests.  Duncan  Tremble  comes  down  and 
cuffs  them  both  soundly,  putting  an  end  to  the  argument 
with,  "It's  all  the  same  as  the  other,  just  like  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company  and  the  free  trader.  Each  one  tells  you  his 
goods  is  the  best  and  the  other  is  nee-inoy-yuh  mcc-wah- 
sin  (no  good).  It's  that  way  with  the  God-goods  of  the 
white  men.  Each  church  tells  you  that  his  is  the  best, 
but  they  all  come  down  to  us  in  the  same  scow,  both  the 
priest  and  the  missionary." 

Next  morning  we  are  all  keyed-up  for  the  rapids,  and 
about  six  miles  down  we  encounter  the  Brule,  the  first 
one,  and  take  it  square  in  mid-channel.  We  ship  a  little 
water,  but  pass  through  it  all  too  soon,  for  the  compelling 
grandeur  of  the  Brule  grips  one.  The  river  here  is  held 
between  vertical  walls  of  the  reddest  of  red  sandstone 

78 


NINETY  MILES  OF  RAPIDS 

against  which  the  lush  greenery  makes  a  striking  con- 
trast. Twenty  miles  below  is  the  Boiler  Rapid.  It  got  its 
name  not  from  its  churning  water  but  because  the  boiler 
of  the  steamer  Wrigley  was  lost  here  and  still  remains 
at  the  bottom  of  the  basin.  The  walls  of  this  rapid  are 
as  clear-cut  as  if  wrought  into  smoothness  by  mallet  and 
chisel.  The  tar-soaked  sands  appear  off  and  on  all  the 
way  to  McMurray.  Next  comes  the  Long  Rapid  (Kaiv- 
kinwalk  Aboivstick),  which  we  run  close  to  its  right  bank. 

From  the  distance  sounds  the  ominous  roar  of  the  Big 
Cascade.  At  quarter  past  four  we  reach  the  head  of  the 
swirling  fall.  The  underlying  cause  of  the  Big  Cascade 
is  a  limestone  ledge  which  cuts  the  channel  diagonally 
and  makes  ugly-looking  water.  We  plan  to  run  the  rapid 
one  boat  at  a  time.  The  crews  are  doubled.  Our  steers- 
man is  alert,  expectant,  and  as  agile  as  a  cat,  his  black 
hair  switching  in  the  wind.  Sitting  in  the  centre  of  the 
scow,  as  we  do,  the  sensation  is  very  different  to  that  which 
one  experiences  in  running  rapids  in  a  canoe.  Then  it  is 
all  swiftness  and  dexterity,  for  your  craft  is  light,  and, 
in  expert  hands,  easily  dirigible  with  one  clever  turn  of  the 
wrist.  With  a  ten-ton  scow  the  conditions  change  and 
you  feel  correspondingly  more  helpless. 

The  great  rapid  stretches  from  shore  to  shore  and  the 
drop  is  sheer.  With  much  excitement,  the  bowsman 
points  out  the  channel  that  seems  to  him  the  safe  one. 
No  one  speaks,  and  the  big  awkward  craft  is  brought 
up  for  the  jump.  It  is  an  elephant  drawing  his  feet  to- 
gether to  take  a  water-fence.  For  all  we  own  in  the  world 
we  wouldn't  be  anywhere  but  just  where  we  sit.  If  it  is 
going  to  be  our  last  minute,  well,  Kismet !  let  it  come.  At 

79 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

least  it  will  not  be  a  tame  way  of  going  out.  For  the 
life  of  me  I  cannot  forbear  a  cry  of  exultation.  Then  there 
is  the  feeling  below  one's  feet  which  you  experienced  when 
you  were  a  kiddie  lying  flat  on  your  stomach  coasting 
down  a  side-hill  and  your  little  red  sled  struck  a  stone. 
We,  too,  have  struck  something,  but  do  not  stop  to  ask 
what  the  obstruction  is. 

At  the  foot  of  the  rapids,  we  hurry  the  boatmen  ashore. 


The  Scow  Breaks  Her  Back  and  Fills 

I  want  to  photograph  the  next  scow  as  she  shoots  the  fall. 
We  reach  a  good  vantage-point  and,  getting  the  coming 
craft  in  the  finder,  I  have  just  time  to  notice  that  her  pas- 
sengers are  Inspector  Pelletier  and  Dr.  Sussex,  when  a 
sharp  crack  rings  out  like  the  shot  of  a  pistol.  Just  as 
we  touch  the  button,  something  happens.  We  wanted  a 
snap-shot,  and  it  was  a  snap-shot  we  got.  The  scow  has 
broken  her  back  and  begins  to  fill. 

80 


NINETY  MILES  OF  RAPIDS 

The  blue-and- white  jerkin  of  Isadore  Tremble,  the  pilot, 
dances  in  the  sun  as  he  gesticulates  and  directs  his  two 
passengers  to  crawl  to  the  top  of  the  boat's  freight.  In 
less  time  than  it  takes  to  write  it,  the  men  from  our  scow 
have  launched  the  police  canoes  and  make  their  way 
through  the  boiling  water  to  take  off  Pelletier  and  the 
Doctor.  The  Inspector  says,  "Step  quick,  Doctor,  there's 
no  time  to  waste."  The  native  politeness  of  Sussex  doesn't 
fail  him,  even  in  this  crisis,  "After  you,  Inspector."  Then 
Pelletier  says,  sharply,  "Jump,  I  tell  you,  jump;  there's 
no  time  for — Gaston-and-Alphonse  business  here." 

As  always,  it  is  impossible  to  tell  who  directs  affairs, 
but  quickly  things  happen.  Lines  are  run  from  the  wreck 
to  the  shore,  other  scows  discharge  their  cargo  on  the 
bank  and  push  out  to  take  the  water-logged  goods  from 
the  wreck.  The  lightened  craft  is  pulled  ashore.  There 
has  been  no  loss  of  life,  but  it  is  a  sorry-looking  cargo 
that  piles  up  on  the  bank, — five  thousand  dollars'  worth  of 
goods  destroyed  in  three  minutes! 

A  sad  procession,  we  make  the  boats,  and  drop  down- 
stream toward  McMurray.  The  night  is  beautiful.  The 
sun  sank  in  a  crimson  splendour  an  hour  ago.  A  low-hung 
moon  comes  out  and  is  visible  and  is  hidden  alternately 
as  we  pass  on  the  shore-line  high  hill  and  intervening 
swale.  With  a  blanket  thrown  over  me,  as  the  others 
sleep,  I  lie  along  the  gunwale,  and  the  beauty  of  it  sinks 
into  my  very  soul.  Just  before  we  enter  McMurray  the 
wraith  of  a  tall  oil-derrick  tells  of  the  enterprise  of  some 
pioneer  in  the  wilderness. 

The  location  of  Fort  McMurray  is  ideal.  At  this  point 
the  river  breaks  into  two  branches  which  encircle  a  high- 
Si 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

banked  and  thickly-wooded  island.  Some  hundreds  of 
yards  farther  on  the  Clearwater  River  makes  in ;  so  here 
we  have  three  streams.  The  fort  has  a  foundation  dating 
back  forty  years.  This  fur  outpost  will  be  the  terminus 
of  the  Alberta  and  Great  Waterways  Railway,  and  one 
could  not  well  imagine  a  more  beautiful  site  for  a  great 
city.  On  the  broad  flat  as  we  enter  appear  a  handful  of 
Indian  houses  and  the  little  stores  of  the  fur-traders. 

Letters  from  the  outside  are  not  as  eagerly  looked  for 
as  one  would  expect.  To  the  people  who  live  within  the 
North,  the  North  is  their  world,  and  to  them  the  news 
of  who  is  to  be  appointed  to  the  charge  of  the  next  post 
down  the  river  is  of  more  importance  than  the  partition 
of  Turkey  or  a  possible  redistribution  of  the  thrones  of 
Europe.  Mr.  Brabant  says,  "Oh,  by  the  way,  Bob,  there 
is  a  package  of  letters  for  you  somewhere  in  the  scow. 
Shall  I  dig  them  out  for  you?"  "Never  mind,"  says  Bob, 
"I'll  get  them  to-morrow.  Have  you  got  any  whiskey?" 

It  is  Sunday  the  fourteenth  of  June.  On  the  long  beach 
is  strewn  the  water-soaked  cargo  of  the  wrecked  scow,  the 
abomination  of  desolation.  Mrs.  Harding,  although  all 
of  her  personal  belongings  and  her  "special  orders"  are 
ruined,  smiles  bravely.  It  is  a  point  of  honour  in  the 
North  not  to  whine,  whatever  happens.  All  day  we  work 
trying  to  save  some  of  the  wrecked  cargo.  Bales  of  goods 
are  unwound  and  stretched  out  for  hundreds  of  yards  in 
the  sun.  Bandanna  handkerchiefs  flutter  on  bushes. 
Toilet  soap,  boots,  and  bear-traps  are  at  our  feet.  The 
Fire-Ranger  of  the  district,  Mr.  Biggs,  has  his  barley  and 
rice  spread  out  on  sheeting,  and,  turning  it  over,  says 
bravely,  "I  think  it  will  dry."  Mathematical  and  astro- 

82 


NINETY  MILES  OF  RAPIDS 

nomical  instruments  consigned  to  a  scientist  on  the  Arctic 
edge  are  shaken  off  centre  and  already  have  begun  to 
rust,  and  there  are  miles  and  miles  of  cordage  and  nets, 
with  braids  and  sewing  silks  and  Hudson's  Bay  blankets ! 
In  the  midst  of  his  wrecked  drugs  and  cherished  per- 
sonal effects  the  Doctor  is  a  pitiful  sight.  By  stage  and 
by  scow,  he  has  been  confiding  to  us  that,  in  order  to  save 
bulk,  his  medicines  have  been  specially  put  up  for  him 
in  highly  concentrated  form  by  London  chemists.  One 
little  pill-box  of  powder  is  potent  enough  to  make  a  dozen 
quart-bottles  of  effective  medicine.  And  now  all  these 
precious  powders  have  melted  together,  and  appear  like 
Dicken's  stew  at  the  Inn  of  the  Jolly  Sand-boys  "all  in 
one  delicious  gravy."  The  Doctor  is  dazed,  and  offers  to 
white  and  brown  alike  a  tin  box  with  "Have  a  pastile,  do." 
He  wanders  among  the  half-breeds,  offering  plasters  for 
weak  backs,  which  they  accept  with  avidity  as  combining 
two  things  that  the  red  man  specially  appreciates, — some- 
thing free  and  something  medicinal.  Sad-faced,  the  Doc- 
tor brings  to  me  a  glass  case  holding  a  dozen  lozenge- 
shaped  disks  on  each  of  which  an  infinitesimal  piece  of 
wood  rests.  "Here  are  some  authenticated  relics,  but  un- 
fortunately the  water  has  made  them  run  and  I  don't 
know  them  apart.  You  see  they  have  the  seal  of  the  Car- 
thusian Monastery  on  the  back.  One  of  them  is  a  piece 
of  the  true  Cross,  but  I  shall  never  be  able  to  tell  which 
it  is."  One  by  one  the  Doctor  digs  out  from  the  wreck 
his  water-soaked  treasures, — a  presentation  "Life  of  the 
Countess  of  Munster,"  also  a  crucifix  from  her,  and  a 
beautifully-carved  holy  water  stoup  of  French  design 
which  he  declares  to  be  "as  old  as  the  Conqueror."  There 

83 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

is  a  medal  of  the  Worshipful  Company  of  Cutlers  which 
carries  with  it  the  freedom  of  the  City  of  London.  An- 
other order  shows  the  Doctor  to  be  a  Knight  of  the  Prim- 
rose League;  and,  fished  from  under  a  side  of  bacon,  is 
a  print  of  "my  great-grandfather  who  discovered  a  cure 
for  scurvy."  A  missionary's  box  of  toys  for  some  Christ- 
mas tree  in  Far  North  fastnesses  is  opened,  and  here  a 


Miss    Gordon,   a   Fort   McMurray  Trader 

native  stops  work  to  lead  along  the  sand  a  pink-and-blue 
alligator. 

Although  the  wrecked  scow  has  its  grotesque  features, 
the  sight  is  a  sad  one,  and  we  are  glad  to  leave  it  and  pull 
across  the  river  to  Fort  McMurray.  We  call  upon  Miss 
Christine  Gordon,  a  young  Scottish  woman  and  a  free- 
trader, if  you  please,  in  her  own  right,  operating  in  oppo- 
sition to  the  great  and  only  Hudson's  Bay  Company.  The 
only  white  woman  on  a  five  hundred  mile  stretch  of  the 
Athabasca,  she  has  lived  here  for  years  with  the  Indians 


NINETY  MILES  OF  RAPIDS 

for  companions,  her  days  being  marked  out  by  their  migra- 
tions and  tribal  feasts.  We  question,  "Are  you  not  lonely, 
especially  in  the  winter?"  But  she  smiles  and  refuses  to 
be  regarded  as  heroic.  "Often  in  the  winter  a  trapper 
passes  through,  and  the  Indians  are  always  coming  and 
going,  and  they  are  full  of  interest." 

We  have  not  walked  with  Miss  Gordon  for  half  an  hour 
among  the  tepees  when  we  discover  the  secret  of  her  cheer- 
iness  and  content.  Our  happiness  consists  not  in  our 
havings  but  in  our  attitude  of  mind.  The  world  is  divided 
sharply  into  two  classes.  The  classes  are  not  the  white  and 
the  black,  the  good  and  the  bad,  the  sheep  and  the  goats, 
as  the  orthodox  would  have  us  believe.  We  are  all  good 
and  bad,  not  black  or  white,  but  varying  shades  of  grey. 
Neither  are  we  sheep  or  goats,  but  moral  alpacas,  all  of 
us, — something  between  a  sheep  and  a  goat.  But  no  less 
are  we  divided  into  two  clear-cut  classes.  Each  of  us  puts 
himself  of  his  own  volition  into  the  class  of  the  self-cen- 
tred, or  the  self-forgetting,  and  in  the  act  marks  himself 
as  happy  or  unhappy. 

As  Miss  Gordon  lifts  the  tent-flaps,  smiles  greet  her 
from  every  home.  The  baby  in  the  moss-bag  is  handed  up 
for  her  inspection,  and  old  blind  Paul  Cree,  the  Chief, 
knows  her  moccasined  step,  and  rises  on  his  elbow  from 
his  couch  of  spruce-boughs  to  greet  her  eagerly  and  salute 
any  that  she  may  present  as  friend.  The  Chief  is  in  his 
ninety-sixth  year  and  depends  upon  chance  visitors  for  his 
companionship  and  food.  Yet  an  assured  air  of  dig- 
nity shows  that  Paul  Cree  is  aware  of  the  respect  due  to 
the  Chief  of  the  McMurrays.  He  addresses  us  in  Cree, 
which  Miss  Gordon  translates.  "I  am  delighted  that 

85 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

ladies  have  come  such  a  long  distance  on  purpose  to  see 
me.  The  white  man  is  my  friend.  I  think  all  white 
women  must  be  good.  Their  mothers  have  taught  them 
to  be  kind  to  old  people.  I  am  sorry  I  am  blind.  Be  glad 
that  you  can  see  the  water,  the  sky,  the  birds  and  flowers 
and  the  faces  of  little  children,"  and  the  tired  old  head 
sinks  on  the  fir-boughs  and  we  are  dismissed.  "Be  glad 
you  are  alive,  and  use  that  sight  while  you  have  it."  It 
is  the  advice  given  by  that  other  strong  man  laid  on  his 
back,  Carlton  in  the  Winnipeg  Hospital. 

We  are  joined  by  Paul  Cree's  brother.  He  has  long 
hair,  and  wears  a  pair  of  pince-nez  as  an  English  gallant 
wears  his  monocle — merely  for  effect,  for  there  is  nothing 
the  matter  with  the  vision  of  those  sharp  eyes.  In  one 
tepee  a  young  mother  is  reading  a  service  book  of  the 
Roman  Church  to  her  little  girl  of  five.  Across  the  plateau 
under  the  shadow  of  the  hill  we  enter  a  camp  where  Miss 
Gordon  has  a  patient  with  an  injured  hand.  The  cut  is 
ugly  and  is  surrounded  by  proud  flesh,  and  we  find  that 
twice  a  day  Miss  Gordon  leaves  her  household  work  and 
her  little  store  to  go  across  and  dress  this  wound. 

When  a  schoolboy  takes  to  his  bosom  a  fidus  Achates, 
the  first  thing  he  does  is  to  offer  to  show  his  birds'  nests ; 
so  Miss  Gordon  introduces  us  to  her  find, — nests  of  the 
Gambel  sparrow.  We  take  two  views,  one  of  a  nest  of 
five  eggs  and  another  of  the  nesting  mother. 

During  the  past  winter  Miss  Gordon  has  fed  the  Indians 
in  families,  as  they  had  "made  little  fur,"  entertaining 
them  as  courteously  as  you  would  your  special  friends  at 
an  afternoon  of  pink  tea  and  pink  thoughts.  Visiting  the 
sick,  trading  fur,  cultivating  her  little  garden,  bring- 

86 


NINETY  MILES  OF  RAPIDS 

ing  wolf  pups  and  bear  cubs  up  by  hand,  thus  this 
plucky  woman  passes  her  days.  It  takes  the  adaptability 
and  dour  determination  of  a  Scot  to  fit  into  this  niche. 
Your  Irishwoman  would  last  in  McMurray  just  about 
three  days. 

A  new  duty  has  been  taken  on  by  Miss  Gordon, — the 
reading  of  the  rain-gauge  just  installed  by  the  Canadian 
Government.  Slyly  taking  a  peep  into  her  records,  we  feel 
that  they  will  have  to  be  adjusted  to  the  latitude  of  Ot- 
tawa when  they  get  there,  for  with  a  true  Northern  con- 
tempt for  fractions  she  has  made  all  the  decimals  read  as 
full  fractions.  The  outside  world  which  feasts  on  blue- 
books  is  apt  in  the  future  to  be  startled  at  the  generous 
precipitation  accorded  Fort  McMurray!  Miss  Gordon's 
ambitions  run  in  other  lines  than  the  mathematical. 
Holding  us  by  both  hands  as  we  bade  good-by,  she  said, 
"Oh,  that  I  were  young  again,  I  would  learn,  learn,  learn. 
I  would  learn  medicine  so  that  I  could  help  these  poor 
creatures."  Her  tone  of  unselfish  sincerity  we  carry 
with  us  as  we  make  our  way  back  to  the  scows,  bearing 
with  us,  as  token  of  good-will  from  the  Gordon  garden, 
radishes  and  lettuce  for  an  evening  salad. 

Next  morning  we  start  bird-hunting  on  our  own  ac- 
count, and  get  a  pair  of  pictures  as  striking  as  those  we 
have  Miss  Gordon  to  thank  for — a  Foxsparrow  on  the 
nest,  then  the  baby  sparrows  but  one  day  old.  If  any  one 
thinks  it  easy  to  find  and  photograph  birds'  nests  in  the 
heart  of  the  ancient  wood  on  Athabascan  banks  in  mos- 
quito time  he  has  "another  guess  coming."  The  mosquito 
here  is  not  a  joke,  not  a  theorem,  but  a  stinging  entity. 
During  the  five  days  we  are  at  Fort  McMurray  the  po- 

87 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

tatoes  in  Miss  Gordon's  garden  have  grown  as  many 
inches,  literally  an  inch  a  day.  Wood  violets,  wild 
roses,  false  Solomon-seal,  and  the  wild  sarsaparilla  are 
everywhere;  the  air  is  full  of  the  scent  of  growing 
things. 

Fort  McMurray  is  the  parting  of  the  ways  where  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company's  steamer  Grahame  meets  us, 
bringing  her  tale  of  outward-going  passengers  from  the 


The    Steamer    Grahame 

North.  The  journey  of  these  people  from  Fort  McMur- 
ray to  The  Landing  is  going  to  be  a  very  different  thing 
from  the  easy  floating  with  the  current  that  we  have  en- 
joyed. All  northern  rivers  are  navigated  against  stream 
by  "tacking,"  that  is,  towing  the  boats,  weary  mile  after 
mile,  "by  the  power  o'  man,"  the  half-breed  boatmen 
scrambling  now  on  the  bank,  now  in  the  water,  tugging 
the  heavily-laden  craft  after  them.  It  is  a  mode  of  trans- 
portation that  neither  written  word  nor  camera  can  do 
justice  to.  We  shake  hands  with  those  going  out  to  civil- 

88 


NINETY  MILES  OF  RAPIDS 

ization  and  take  our  dunnage  aboard  the  steamer.  The 
Grahame  has  its  advantages, — clean  beds,  white  men's 
meals  served  in  real  dishes,  and  best  of  all,  a  bath ! 

On  the  Grahame  we  meet  Mr.  Harris,  of  Fond  du  Lac, 
who  has  come  thus  far  to  greet  the  incoming  transport 
and  who  goes  back  again  with  it.  Scholarly  and  versatile, 
we  are  to  find  in  Mr.  Harris  a  very  mint  of  Indian  lore  and 
woodland  wisdom  and  the  most  wonderful  memory  I  have 
ever  encountered.  All  the  vicissitudes  of  a  Northern  life 
have  failed  to  rub  out  one  line  of  the  Virgil  and  Horace 
of  his  schoolboy  days,  whole  chapters  of  which,  without 
one  false  quantity,  he  repeats  for  us  in  a  resonant  voice. 
He  can  recite  the  whole  of  "Paradise  Lost"  as  faultlessly 
as  Macaulay  was  credited  with  being  able  to  do.  If  Mr. 
Harris  could  be  induced  to  write  a  story  of  the  North  it 
would  put  to  shame  all  the  weak  efforts  of  one-season  vis- 
itors who  of  necessity  see  only  the  surface  and  have  to 
guess  the  depths. 

As  we  pull  out,  we  mentally  run  our  fingers  along  the 
parallel  of  56°  40'  North  to  find  out  by  comparison,  as  they 
say  in  Chicago,  "where  we  are  at/'  In  Europe  we  would 
be  on  the  top  of  Ben  Nevis  and  not  so  far  north  as  Aber- 
deen. Our  line  of  latitude  run  westward  will  cut  Sitka, 
and  the  lone  Pribilof,  "where  the  little  blue  fox  is  bred  for 
his  skin  and  the  seals  they  breed  for  themselves."  Cross- 
ing the  junction  of  the  Clearwater  with  the  Athabasca, 
we  strike  for  the  first  time  the  trail  of  Sir  Alexander  Mac- 
kenzie, who  came  in  by  Portage  la  Loche,  and  in  1789 
traced  to  the  sea  the  great  river  which  bears  his  name. 
At  its  confluence  with  the  Clearwater  the  Athabasca  is  per- 
haps three-quarters  of  a  mile  wide,  and  it  maintains  a 
8  89 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

steady  current  with  a  somewhat  contracting  channel  to  the 
point  of  its  discharge  into  Lake  Athabasca  in  latitude 
58°  36'  North. 

In  all  Canada  there  is  no  more  interesting  stretch  of 
waterway  than  that  upon  which  we  are  entering.  An 
earth-movement  here  has  created  a  line  of  fault  clearly 


An  Oil  Derrick  on  the  Athabasca 

visible  for  seventy  or  eighty  miles  along  the  river-bank, 
out  of  which  oil  oozes  at  frequent  intervals.  Count  von 
Hammerstein,  building  derricks  from  point  to  point  along 
the  stream,  has  put  in  much  time,  toil,  and  money  in  oil- 
development  here.  Our  traverse  of  those  ninety  miles  of 
Athabasca  Rapids  has  given  us  respect  for  the  labor  and 
determination  which  in  this  wilderness  has  erected  these 

90 


NINETY  MILES  OF  RAPIDS 

giant  derricks.  Looking  at  them,  we  waft  a  wish  that  the 
plucky  prospector  may  reap  his  reward  and  abundantly 
strike  oil.  The  Count  tells  us  of  striking  one  hundred  and 


Tar  Banks  on  the  Athabasca 

fifty  feet  of  rock  salt  while  "punching"  one  of  his  oil-shafts 
through  the  ground.  Here  are  overhanging  dykes  of  lime- 
stone ;  and  out  of  the  lime  and  clay  shoot  up  splendid  trees 
of  pine,  poplar,  and  spruce. 

91 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

At  Fort  McKay,  thirty  miles  below  McMurray,  a  fine 
seam  of  coal  is  exposed  on  the  river-bank.  It  is  bitumi- 
nous, and  can  be  used  for  blacksmithing,  but  probably  not 
for  welding.  Ochre  is  found  on  these  banks,  with  sand 
of  the  very  best  quality  for  making  glass,  while  extensive 
sulphur  deposits  have  been  discovered  on  the  east  side  of 
the  river  between  Fort  McMurray  and  the  lake.  On  the 
Clearwater  are  medicinal  springs  whose  output  tastes  very 
much  like  Hunyadi  water. 

Tar  there  is,  too,  in  plenty.  Out  of  the  over-hanging 
banks  it  oozes  at  every  fissure,  and  into  some  of  the  bitumi- 
nous tar-wells  we  can  poke  a  twenty  foot  pole  and  find  no 
resistance.  These  tar-sands  lithologically  may  be  de- 
scribed as  a  soft  sandstone,  the  cementing  material  of 
which  is  a  bitumen  or  petroleum.  They  are  estimated  to 
have  a  distribution  of  over  five  hundred  square  miles. 
Where  it  is  possible  to  expose  a  section,  as  on  a  river-bank, 
the  formation  extends  from  one  hundred  and  twenty-five 
to  two  hundred  feet  in  depth,  the  bitumen  being  distrib- 
uted through  the  sands. 

Twelve  miles  below  the  last  exposure  of  the  tar-sands 
and  about  two  miles  above  the  mouth  of  Red  Earth  Creek 
a  copious  saline  spring  bubbles  up,  and  there  is  an  escape 
of  sulphurretted  hydrogen  whose  unmistakable  odour  fol- 
lows the  boat  for  half  a  mile.  Kipling  was  right  when  he 
said,  "Smells  are  surer  than  sounds  or  sights." 

We  speak  only  of  what  we  observe  from  the  deck  of  a 
boat  as  we  pass  down  this  wonderful  river.  What  is  hid- 
den is  a  richer  story  which  only  the  coming  of  the  railroad 
can  bring  to  light. 


CHAPTER  VI 

FORT  CIIIPEWYAN  PAST  AND  PRESENT 

"Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 
Their  humble  joys  and  destiny  obscure." 

— Gray's  Elegy. 

At  seven  in  the  morning  of  Sunday,  June  2ist,  we  enter 
Lake  Athabasca,  and  catch  our  first  glimpse  of  Fort 
Chipewyan.  An  acceptance  of  the  invitation,  "Come, 
shake  your  leg,"  has  kept  the  men  busy  half  the  night 
over  a  hot  sequence  of  Red  River  jigs  among  "pieces"  on 
the  lower  deck,  and  we  have  this  superb  sweep  almost  to 
ourselves. 

The  great  lake-scape  is  blue  and  green  and  grey  and 
opaline  as  the  sun  strikes  it  and  the  surface  breaks  to  a 
south  wind.  Ours  is  the  one  craft  on  this  inland  sea,  but 
overhead  a  whole  navy  of  clouds  manoeuvres,  the  ships  of 
the  ghostly  argosy  doubling  themselves  in  the  lake.  As 
we  draw  in,  the  village  takes  shape.  What  haunts  us 
as  we  look  at  the  white  houses,  that  crescent  beach  of 
pinkest  sand?  We  have  it!  It  is  a  print,  an  old  wood- 
cut of  "Russian  America"  that  we  used  to  pore  over  in 
the  days  when  one  wore  "pinnies"  of  flour-sacking,  and 
"hankies"  were  made  from  meal-bags. 

At  one  end  of  the  village  are  the  little  smithy  of  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  Company  and  the  pretentious  buildings  of  their 
establishment.  At  the  other  gibbous  horn  of  this  Athens 

93 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

of  the  Athabasca  rise  the  steeples  and  convent-school  of 
the  Roman  Church,  with  the  free-trading-post  of  Colin 
Fraser.  Midway  between  is  the  little  Church  of  England, 
and  higher  up  and  farther  back  the  Barracks  of  the  Royal 
Northwest  Mounted  Police.  The  white-washed  homes  of 
the  employes  of  The  Company,  little  match-boxes  daz- 


Fort   Chipewyan,  Lake  Athabasca 

zling  in  the  sun,  stretch  from  one  end  of  the  beach  to  the 
other.  In  among  the  half-breed  populace  stalk  policeman 
and  priest,  red  jacket  keeping  the  dark-skinned  people 
straight  in  this  world  and  black  robe  laying  out  conditions 
for  the  world  to  come.  So  is  Chipewyan  fate  chequered 
with  the  rouge  ct  noir  of  compulsion  and  expediency. 

Fort  Chipewyan  is  the  oldest  post  in  the  North,  and 
every  boulder  of  red  gneissic  rock,  if  we  could  interrogate 

94 


FORT  CHIPEWYAN  PAST  AND  PRESENT 

it,  has  a  story  to  tell.  Peter  Pond,  of  the  North-West 
Company,  in  1778  built  a  post  on  the  Athabasca  River 
thirty  miles  to  the  south  of  the  lake.  The  far-seeing 
Alexander  Mackenzie,  in  the  interests  of  the  same  com- 
pany, sent  his  cousin  Roderick  ten  years  later  to  build 
Fort  Chipewyan  on  the  lake,  and  for  over  a  century  this 
was  the  entrepot  and  emporium  of  the  whole  North.  The 
Hudson's  Bay  Company  meanwhile  were  maintaining  a 
post,  Fort  Wedderburne,  not  far  away  on  Potato  Island, 
and  upon  the  amalgamation  of  the  Companies  in  1821  they 
took  possession  of  the  present  Fort  Chipewyan. 

This  metropolis  is  one  hundred  and  twenty  years  old. 
Chipewyan  was  doing  business  at  the  same  old  stand  be- 
fore Toronto  was  the  capital  of  Upper  Canada,  while  Ot- 
tawa was  still  unheard  of,  and  when  of  Chicago  not  even 
the  Fort  Dearborn  nucleus  had  been  built.  1788!  We 
wonder  if  the  old  ox  that  conveys  our  "cassette"  and 
"pieces"  up  to  the  big  gateway  of  The  Company's  quad- 
rangle was  a  drawer  of  wood  and  drinker  of  water  at  that 
date.  He  looks  as  if  he  might  have  been.  George  III 
was.  reigning  in  England  when  Fort  Chipewyan  was  built, 
Arkwright  was  making  his  spinning  jenny,  and  Watts  ex- 
perimenting with  the  steam-engine.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 
painted  his  pictures,  Burns,  a  young  man  of  twenty-nine, 
was  busy  with  his  ballads.  In  London  a  little  baby  saw 
the  light  of  day,  whom  the  world  afterwards  hailed  as  Lord 
Byron.  Three  British  boys  might  have  been  seen  with 
arms  thrown  over  each  other's  shoulders,  "dreaming 
greatly" — Coleridge  aged  sixteen,  young  Walter  Scott, 
seventeen,  and  Wordsworth  just  eighteen.  Across  the 
Channel  the  French  Revolution  was  at  its  height.  Shelley 

95 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

and  Keats  were  not  yet  born.  Down  on  the  Atlantic  sea- 
board of  America  a  new  people  just  twelve  years  before 
had  gone  through  the  birth-throes  of  nationhood.  It  is 
a  far  call. 

Scraping  the  yellow  lichens  off  the  old  sun-dial,  we  ad- 
just our  bearings.  We  are  m°  West  of  Greenwich  and 
in  latitude  58°  45'  North.  Our  parallel  carried  eastward 
would  strike  the  Orkneyan  skerries  and  pass  through 
Stromness.  All  untouched  by  the  development  of  that 
busy  continent  to  the  south  which  has  grown  up  within  its 
lifetime,  Chipewyan  is  a  little  pearl  of  the  periwigged 
days  of  the  early  Georges.  From  its  red  sands,  tamarack 
swamps,  and  mossy  muskeg  one  almost  expects  to  see 
arise  the  forms  of  those  great  of  old  who  outfitted  here, 
making  Chipewyan  the  base  of  their  northward  explora- 
tions. The  ghostly  company  is  a  goodly  one — Sir  Alex- 
ander Mackenzie,  Sir  George  Simpson,  and  Sir  John 
Franklin  (their  honorary  prefixes  coming  to  them  in  the 
after  days  as  reward  of  their  labors),  Back  and  Rich- 
ardson and  Rae,  and  in  later  days  that  young  stripling 
curate  who  was  afterwards  to  be  known  throughout  the 
world  of  letters  as  Bishop  Bompas,  the  "Apostle  of  the 
North."  Then  there  is  the  great  unnamed  horde  who 
rested  tired  limbs  at  Chipewyan  on  their  northward  jour- 
neys, each  on  his  own  mission — fur-traders  and  hunters 
of  big  game,  devoted  nuns  and  silent  priests,  the  infre- 
quent scientist,  and  the  hundreds  of  Klondikers,  their 
hearts  hot  with  the  greed  for  gold.  These  all  through  the 
century  have  enjoyed  as  we  now  enjoy  the  spontaneous 
hospitality  of  this  little  bit  of  Britain  which  floats  the 
Union  Jack  from  its  fort  walls,  and  whose  people,  brown 


FORT  CHIPEWYAN  PAST  AND  PRESENT 

and  white,  when  the  belated  news  of  the  passing  of  Vic- 
toria the  Great  reached  this  her  northern  outpost,  gath- 
ered on  the  beach  and  bewailed  aloud  their  personal  loss. 
We  seem  to  hear  again  the  far-flung  cry  "The  Queen  is 
dead!  The  Queen  is  dead!"  from  the  half-breed  run- 
ners coming  in  that  Christinas  Day  across  the  winter 
ice. 

Mackenzie  made  Chipewyan  his  headquarters  for  eight 
years.  It  was  from  here  he  started  on  his  voyage  to  th~ 
Arctic  Sea  in  1789,  and  three  years  later  on  that  other 
history-making  journey  to  the  far  Pacific.  Sir  John 
Franklin  outfitted  here  for  his  two  land-journeys — in  July, 
1820,  with  Dr.  Richardson,  and  again  in  1825.  Chipew- 
yan is  a  mine  of  interest.  We  almost  begrudge  time  given 
to  the  dainty  meals  of  our  hostess,  Mrs.  William  Johnson, 
and  the  hours  spent  between  her  lavender-scented  sheets. 

In  the  loft  above  the  office  of  the  H.  B.  Company,  in 
among  old  flintlock  rifles  and  discarded  ox-yokes,  we 
browse  through  the  daily  records  of  The  Company,  old 
journals  written  by  the  Factors  at  the  close  of  their  day's 
work  through  the  years  and  here  preserved  for  our  in- 
quisitive eyes.  Sitting  on  the  floor,  making  extracts  from 
these  tomes,  one  has  the  half-guilty  feeling  of  being  caught 
poking  into  a  tomb. 

On  this  page  the  ink  is  thin  and  one  can  see  the  old 
writer  thawing  out  his  frozen  ink-pot  of  stone  at  the  end 
of  a  tired  day  and  sitting  down  to  write  his  simple  tale. 
Here  are  finger-marks  where  the  blood  of  a  buffalo  gives 
a  marginal  note.  The  journalist  had  been  called  away 
from  his  writing  to  weigh  and  pay  for  some  fresh  meat. 
Drops  from  a  tallow  candle  show  the  light  of  other  days. 

97 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

A  pressed  mosquito  of  the  vintage  of  1790  is  very  sug- 
gestive. We  picture  the  trivial  round  and  common  task 
of  the  man  who  writes,  see  him  exchanging  fathoms  of 
tobacco  for  beaver-pelts  in  those  long,  cold  winters,  and 
eagerly  hunger  with  him  for  the  signs  presaging  the  go- 
ing-out of  the  ice  and  the  coming-in  of  Spring.  We  fol- 
low out  the  short  Summer  with  him  and  revel  in  its  per- 
petual daylight.  With  him  we  make  the  fall  fishery  and 
shoot  our  winter's  supply  of  waveys  and  southward-fly- 
ing cranes.  We  wonder,  as  he  wondered,  what  news  the 
next  packet  will  bring  from  the  old  folks  in  the  Orkneys 
or  the  Hebrides.  We  study,  as  he  studied,  the  problem 
of  governing  his  servants,  placating  the  Indians,  and 
making  enough  fur  to  satisfy  that  inexorable  Board  of 
Directors  back  in  London  whose  motto  is  "Skin  for 
skin." 

It  has  been  a  grim  enough  life  as  the  author  of  this 
journal  records  it.  He  is  far  from  those  who  direct  his 
fate,  and  recognition  and  reward  are  slow  in  coming. 
Companionship  and  the  gentle  arts  of  "outside"  are  de- 
nied him.  He  must  make  his  own  world  and  rear  within 
it  his  dusky  brood,  that  they  in  honourable  service  may  fol- 
low his  round  of  "work  done  squarely  and  unwasted  days/' 
What  made  the  charm  of  this  life  to  these  men?  It  is 
hard  to  see.  The  master  of  the  post  was  also  master  of 
the  situation,  and  an  autocrat  in  his  community,  a  little 
Fur  King,  a  Captain  of  Industry.  A  thing  was  law  be- 
cause he  said  it.  And  isn't  it  Caesar  himself  who  de- 
clares, "Better  be  first  in  a  little  Iberian  village  than  sec- 
ond in  Rome?" 

We  get  a  delightful  picture  in  an  entry  under  the  date  of 


FORT  CHIPEWYAN  PAST  AND  PRESENT 

Wednesday,  23rd  May,  1827,  when  Sir  John  Franklin 
was  on  his  way  back  to  England  at  the  end  of  his  second 
journey. 

''To-day  William  McGillivary  and  Katherine  Stewart,  daughter 
of  Alexander  Stewart,  Chief  Factor,  were  joined  in  holy  wedlock 
by  Captain  John  Franklin,  R.N.,  Commander  of  the  Land  Arctic 
Expedition." 

Great  is  the  force  of  example,  for  five  days  later  appears 
the  entry 

"This  evening  the  ceremonial  of  marriage  took  place  between 
Robert  McVicar,  Esq.,  and  Christy  McBcath.  Captain  Franklin 
acted  on  the  occasion  as  clergyman.  The  ceremony  o'er,  the 
evening  was  agreeably  spent  in  a  family  assembly." 

Looking  at  these  records,  we  are  reminded  of  a  not- 
very-well-known  story  of  international  courtesy  which 
connects  itself  with  the  third  and  ill-fated  journey  of 
Franklin.  Old  Sir  John,  then  in  his  sixtieth  year,  had 
sailed  from  England  in  an  attempt  at  the  Northwest  Pas- 
sage. Years  passed  and  no  word  came  from  the  explorer, 
and  in  1852  the  ice-desert  was  still  mute. 

In  this  year,  Sir  Edward  Belcher  in  the  Resolute  headed 
one  of  the  many  Arctic  Relief  Expeditions,  subsequently 
abandoning  his  boat  in  the  ice  off  Melville  Island.  Next 
year  the  American  whaler  Henry  George  met  the  deserted 
Resolute  in  sound  condition  about  forty  miles  from  Cape 
Mercy;  she  must  have  drifted  through  Barrow  Strait, 
Lancaster  Sound,  and  Baffin  Bay.  She  was  recovered, 
the  Government  of  the  United  States  bought  her  and  with 
international  compliments  presented  her  in  perfect  condi- 

99 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

tion  to  Queen  Victoria  in  1856.  The  old  ship  was  broken 
up  about  thirty  years  ago,  and  from  the  soundest  of  her 
timbers  a  solid  desk  was  made  by  direction  of  Queen  Vic- 
toria, who  presented  it  to  the  then  President  of  the  United 
States.  This  is  the  desk  which  stands  in  President  Taft's 
reception  room  to-day,  and  on  it  the  papers  of  eight  ad- 
ministrations have  been  written. 

There  is  living  as  well  as  buried  history  in  Chipewyan. 
A  stroll  from  one  end  of  its  lacustrine  street  to  the  other  is 
lush  with  interest.  We  call  upon  Colin  Eraser,  whose 
father  was  piper  to  Sir  George  Simpson.  Colin  treats  us 
to  a  skirl  of  the  very  pipes  which  announced  the  approach 
of  Simpson  whenever  that  little  Northern  autocrat,  dur- 
ing his  triumphal  progress  through  a  bailiwick  as  big  as 
Europe,  made  his  way  into  a  new  fort. 

With  the  echo  of  the  "Gay  Gordons'  in  our  ears  we 
pass  into  the  largest  convent  in  the  North  country,  man- 
aged by  the  Grey  Nuns  of  Montreal.  Sister  Brunelle 
came  into  the  North  in  1866.  Forty-two  years  in  a  con- 
vent-school of  the  Northland!  It  makes  one  gasp. 

These  Indian  schools,  assisted  by  the  Canadian  Govern- 
ment, catch  the  little  Indians  in  the  camps  and  hold  their 
prey  on  school-benches  from  the  age  of  four  to  fourteen. 
One  boy  is  dumb,  another  a  hunchback.  In  a  corner  we 
came  upon  a  poor  old  derelict  of  the  camps,  a  Cree  woman, 
paralysed  and  mentally  deranged,  who  within  these  quiet 
walls  has  found  harbour.  The  kiddies  are  taught  one  day 
in  French  and  the  next  day  in  English ;  but  when  they  hide 
behind  their  spellers  to  talk  about  the  white  visitors,  the 
whisper  is  in  Chipewyan.  What  do  they  learn?  Read- 
ing, (vertical)  writing,  arithmetic,  hymns,  and  hoeing 

100 


FORT  CHIPEWYAN  PAST  AND  PRESENT 

potatoes,  grammar,  sewing  and  shoemaking,  and  one 
more  branch,  never  taught  in  Southern  schools.  When 
the  fall  fishery  comes,  the  nuns  kilt  up  their  skirts,  slates 
are  shoved  far  back  into  desks,  and  shepherdess  and  sheep 
(young  brown  moose!)  together  clean  the  whitefish  which 


Three  of  a  Kind 

are  to  furnish  meals  for  a  twelve-month  to  come.  If  fish 
be  brain  food,  then  should  this  convent  of  Chipewyan 
gather  in  medals,  degrees,  and  awards,  capturing  for  its 
black-eyed  boys  Rhodes  scholarships  ad  lib. 

Back  of  the  convent  stretches  a  farm  with  an  historic 
record.  It  was  from  this  enclosure,  tilled  by  the  priests 
and  their  proteges,  that  the  sample  of  wheat  came  which 

IOT 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

at  the  Centennial  Exposition  in  Philadelphia  in  competition 
with  the  wheats  of  the  world  took  the  bronze  medal.  This 
wheat  ran  sixty-eight  pounds  to  the  bushel. 

We  linger  in  the  convent,  looking  at  the  rows  of  tiny 
beds  neat  and  immaculate,  each  covered  with  its  little  blue 
counterpane.  Sister  Jigot,  with  the  air  of  divulging  a 
state  secret,  tells  that  the  pretty  bed-covering  is  flour-sack- 
ing, that  it  is  dyed  on  the  premises  from  a  recipe  brought 
out  of  Chipewyan  woods.  In  the  long  winter  evenings 
these  good  step-mothers  of  savages  do  all  their  reading 
and  sewing  before  six  o'clock.  The  mid-winter  sun  sinks 
at  four,  and  two  hours  of  candle-light  is  all  that  the  frugal 
exchequer  can  afford.  "What  in  the  world  do  you  do 
after  six?"  I  venture;  for  well  we  know  those  busy  fingers 
are  not  content  to  rest  in  idle  laps.  "Oh!  we  knit,  open- 
ing the  stove-doors  to  give  us  light."  Many  a  time  are 
we  to  throw  a  glance  backward  through  the  years  to  these 
devoted  souls  upon  Athabascan  shores,  trying  to  graft 
a  new  civilisation  on  an  old  stock,  and  in  the  process  econ- 
omising their  candles  like  Alfred  of  old. 

Both  Protestant  and  Roman  missionaries  are  amateur 
doctors  and  we  find  a  stimulating  rivalry  in  bodily  and 
spiritual  ministrations.  At  the  Church  of  England  Mis- 
sion we  are  shown  with  triumph  a  piece  of  bone  salved 
from  the  leg  of  an  injured  Indian.  Afterward  we  learn 
that  the  peripatetic  patient  accepted  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land treatment  in  the  daytime,  and  in  the  evening  shadows 
was  carried  across  the  rocks  to  the  shrine  of  Rome.  Poor 
chap,  he  died  in  the  process !  But  while  he  lived  he  stim- 
ulated trade,  and  his  memory  lingers  to  point  a  moral  and 
adorn  a  tale.  If  there  had  but  been  a  Presbyterian  Church 

1 02 


FORT  CHIPEWYAN  PAST  AND  PRESENT 

within  range,  he  might  have  comforted  himself  with  the 
thought  that  it  had  all  been  comfortably  fore-ordained. 

An  interesting  family  lives  next  to  the  English  Mission 
—the  Loutits.  The  father  tells  of  the  days  when  as  a 
young  man  he  served  The  Company,  and  "for  breakfast 
on  the  march  they  gave  you  a  club  and  showed  you  a  rab- 
bit-track." There  were  Loutits  in  Chipewyan  as  far  back 
as  the  old  journals  reach.  The  Scottish  blood  has  inter- 
mingled with  that  of  Cree  and  Chipewyan  and  the  result- 
ant in  this  day's  generation  is  a  family  of  striking  young 
people — the  girls  good  to  look  at  and  clever  in  beadwork 
and  quill-ornamentation,  the  boys  skilled  in  nemoral  arts 
and  holding  the  strong  men's  records  of  the  North. 

George  Loutit  without  help  brought  a  scow  with  four 
thousand  pounds  from  Athabasca  Landing  to  Chipewyan 
through  the  ninety  miles  of  rapids.  His  brother  Billy, 
carrying  a  special  dispatch  of  the  Mounted  Police,  ran 
with  a  hand-sled  (and  no  dogs)  from  Chipewyan  to  Fort 
Smith  and  back  in  three  days — a  distance  of  two  hundred 
miles  at  least.  Once,  when  the  river  rose  suddenly  in  the 
night,  Billy  unloaded  nine  tons  from  one  scow  to  another, 
astonishing  the  owners,  who  snored  while  Billy  was  toil- 
ing upward  in  the  night.  The  rivermen  tell  of  George 
Loutit's  quarreling  with  a  man  one  afternoon  in  a  saloon 
at  Edmonton  and  throwing  his  adversary  out  of  the  win- 
dow. When  he  heard  him  slump,  George  immediately 
thought  of  the  North  as  a  most  desirable  place  and  started 
hot-foot  for  Athabasca  Landing,  a  hundred  miles  away. 
He  arrived  there  in  time  for  noon  luncheon  next  day. 

At  the  H.  B.  Co.  end  of  the  village  we  find  Pierre  Mer- 
credi  in  charge.  A  French  Bishop  once  wanted  to  train 

103 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

him  for  the  priesthood,  but  it  is  peltries  and  not  souls  that 
Pierre  is  after.  His  forebears  were  Irish  McCarthys,  but 
this  name  failed  to  fall  trippingly  from  the  tongue  of 
French  priests,  and  became  corrupted  into  the  Mercredi 
as  he  now  signs  it. 

Throughout  the  journals  of  the  last  forty  years  we  run 
across  such  entries  as  these: — "Wyllie  at  the  forge," 
"Wyllie  making  nails,"  "Wyllie  straightening  the  fowling- 
pieces,"  "Wyllie  making  sled-runners,"  "This  day  Wyl- 
lie made  a  coffin  for  an  Indian."  We  step  into  the  old 
man's  smithy,  and  he  turns  to  greet  us  with  an  out- 
stretched hand  and  a  "Good  mornin',"  in  richest  Doric. 
The  date  1863  cut  into  the  wooden  foundation  of  his  forge 
marks  the  year  when  Wyllie  came  to  Chipewyan.  He  was 
born  in  the  Orkneys,  and  had  never  seen  a  city  in  the  Old 
World.  Coming  out  to  America  in  a  sailing  vessel  of  The 
Company  by  way  of  Hudson  Bay,  he  threaded  the  inland 
waterway  which  brought  him  to  Chipewyan  without  see- 
ing a  city  in  America.  Torontonians  think  the  hub  of  the 
universe  is  their  capital  on  Lake  Ontario.  A  smart  young 
man  from  Toronto  filtered  in  one  day  to  Chipewyan,  and 
asked  the  old  blacksmith,  "Came  from  the  Old  Country, 
didn't  you?  What  did  you  think  of  Toronto?"  "Naeth- 
ing,  I  didna  see  the  place." 

Mr.  Wyllie  has  never  seen  an  electric  light  nor  a  rail- 
way train  nor  a  two-story  building  nor  a  telegraph  wire 
nor  a  telephone.  In  the  forty-five  years  in  which  he  has 
presided  over  this  forge,  the  limits  of  his  wanderings  have 
been  McMurray  on  the  south,  Fort  Smith  on  the  north, 
Fond  du  Lac  on  the  east,  the  Chutes  of  the  Peace  on  the 
west.  To  him  these  are  innocuous  days  of  ease,  in  which 

104 


FORT  CHIPEWYAN  PAST  AND  PRESENT 

we  are  falling  into  luxuriousness  with  all  its  weakening 
influence.  "It  was  much  better  in  the  old  days  when  we 
had  only  dried  meat  and  fish-oil.  Nowadays,  when  we 
have  flour  and  tinned  meats  and  preserved  fruits,  all  my 
teeth  are  coming  out!" 

No  one  feels  like  smiling  a  smile  of  superiority  in  talk- 
ing with  old  Mr.  Wyllie.  He  has  taught  himself  the  gen- 
tle arts  of  gunsmithing  and  blacksmithing.  The  tools  that 
we  see  all  around  us  are  marvels  of  mechanical  skill  and 
would  be  the  joy  of  a  modern  Arts  and  Crafts  Exhibition. 
His  sledges  and  augurs,  planes  and  chisels  have  been  made 
by  the  old  man  out  of  pig  iron  which  came  as  ballast  in  the 
holds  of  those  old  sailing  ships  which  beat  their  way  into 
Fort  Churchill  through  Hudson  Strait.  The  hand-made 
tools  are  set  into  convenient  handles  of  moose-horn  and 
bone.  Clever  indeed  is  the  workmanship  that  Wyllie  has 
done  with  them.  The  last  triumph  from  this  unique  forge 
was  the  welding  of  the  broken  shaft  of  the  little  tug  Prim- 
rose. The  steamer  Grahame  was  built  at  Chipewyan  of 
whipsawn  lumber,  and  much  of  her  steel  and  ironwork  was 
wrought  on  Wyllie's  forge. 

Wyllie  left  the  Scottish  Isles  when  a  mere  lad,  but  they 
are  still  "Home"  to  him  and  he  tells  us  that  this  autumn 
he  is  going  back  on  a  visit.  It  was  a  prototype  of  Willie's 

"From  the  lone  sheiling  and  the  misty  island, 
Mountains  divide  us  and  a  waste  of  seas, 
But  still  the  heart,  the  heart  is  Highland, 
And  we  in  dreams  behold  the  Hebrides," 

who  prayed  "O,  Lord,  we  beseech  Thee,  send  down  Thy 
covenanted  blessin'  on  the  Muckle  Hebrides,  the  Lesser 
9  105 


1  1 


i 


Samples  of  Woman's  Work  of  the  Far   North.     (See  page  107.) 

i 

1 06 


FORT  CHIPEWYAN  PAST  AND  PRESENT 

Hebrides,  and  the  adjacent  islands  of  Great  Britain  and 
Ireland."  Talking  with  the  old  gentleman,  you  are  con- 
scious of  the  innate  moral  strength  rather  than  the  me- 
chanical skill  of  the  craftsman.  Instinctively  you  feel  the 
splendid  power  of  his  presence  and  come  out  from  his 
forge  murmuring,  "Thank  God  I  have  seen  a  man  this 
day."  Wyllie  belongs  to  the  age  of  the  old  journals,  to 
the  clays  that  bred  Joe  Gargerys  and  old  Adams  in  whom 
appeared  "the  constant  service  of  the  antique  world." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  William  Johnson,  with  generous  courtesy, 
have  made  us  their  guests  while  we  stay,  and  their  refined 
home  is  a  clear  delight.  Mr.  Johnson  is  as  clever  a  man 
as  Mr.  Wyllie,  but  in  other  lines.  Without  ever  having 
seen  an  electric  light,  he  learned  by  study  and  research 
more  about  electricity  than  nine  men  out  of  ten  know  who 
go  through  Electrical  Training  Schools.  With  the  knowl- 
edge thus  gained  he  constructed  and  put  into  working  use 
an  electric-light  plant- at  Fort  Simpson  on  the  Mackenzie. 
Far  up  here  on  the  map,  too,  the  "Judge,"  as  he  is  lovingly 

EXPLANATION    OF    PLATE  ON   THE  OPPOSITE   PAGE 

A  and  C — Muski-moots,  or  bags  used  by  the  duck-hunter  for  his  game.  Made  by  Dog- 
Rib  women,  of  babiche,  or  lawhide  of  the  moose  or  caribou. 

B — Velvet  leggings  richly  embroidered  in  violet-coloured  bead-work,  made  by  Mrs. 
(Archdeacon)  Macdonald,  a  full-blooded  Loucheaux  woman. 

D — Wall-pocket  of  white  deerskin  embroidered  in  silk.  Made  by  a  Rabbit-Skin  woman 
at  Fort  Good  Hope  under  the  Arctic  Circle. 

E — Wall-pocket  ornamented  with  porcupine-quill  work,  made  by  a  Yellow-Knife  Indian 
woman  at  Fort  Resolution  on  Great  Slave  Lake. 

F — Fire-bag,  or  tobacco-pouch,  made  of  two  claws  of  the  black  bear.  The  work  of  a 
Beaver  Indian  woman  at  Vermilion-on-the-Peace. 

G — Fire-bag  of  velvet  ornamented  with  silk-work,  made  by  Chipewyan  woman  at  Fond 
du  Lac,  Lake  Athabasca. 

II — Velvet  watch-bag  embroidered  in  silk,  made  by  Slavi  Indian  woman  at  Fort  Provi- 
dence, at  the  head  of  Mackenzie  River. 

I — Watch-pocket  of  smoked  moose-skin,  embroidered  in  silk-work,  made  by  a  Cree  girl 
at  Fort  McMurray  on  the  Athabasca. 

J — Armlets  ornamented  in  porcupine  quills,  made  by  a  half-breed  woman  on  the  Liard 
River  (a  feeder  of  the  Mackenzie). 

K — Three  hat  bands  —  the  first  two  ornamented  with  porcupine  quills,  and  the  last  in 
silk  embroidery  —  made  by  Chipewyan  woman  at  Fond  du  Lac,  Lake  Athabasca. 

L — Beautiful  belt  of  porcupine  work,  made  by  a  half-breed  woman  at  Fort  Nelson  on 
the  Liard  (a  feeder  of  the  Mackenzie). 

M — Armlets   of    porcupine-quill    work,    made    by    half-breed   girl    at    Fort   Chipewyan. 

107 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

called,  taught  himself  all  about  watches,  and  he  is  now 
Father  Time  for  the  whole  Mackenzie  District,  regulating 
and  mending  every  timepiece  in  the  country.  The  cor- 
rected watches  are  carried  to  their  owners  by  the  next 
obliging  person  who  passes  the  post,  where  the  owner  is 
notching  off  the  days  on  a  piece  of  stick  while  he  waits.  A 
watch,  the  works  of  which  were  extracted  from  three  old 
ones  and  assembled  within  one  case  by  this  Burbank  of 
Watchdom,  found  its  way  down  to  Chicago.  The  jeweller 
into  whose  hands  it  fell  declared  that  among  all  his  work- 
men there  was  not  one  who  could  have  duplicated  the  job. 
Chipewyan  is  a  bird  paradise ;  the  whole  woods  are  vocal 
to-day.  In  the  autumn,  wonderful  hunts  are  made  of  the 

J 

southward-flying  cranes,  geese,  and  waveys,  thousands  of 
these  great  birds  being  killed  and  salted  and  put  in  ice 
chambers  for  winter  use.  If  the  mosquitoes  were  not  so 
bad  we  would  spend  hours  in  the  woods  here  with  "God's 
jocund  little  fowls."  These  sweet  songsters  seem  to  have 
left  far  behind  them  to  the  south  all  suspicion  of  bigger 
bipeds.  We  hear  the  note  of  the  ruby-crowned  kinglet 
(re guilts  calendula)  which  some  one  says  sounds  like 
"Chappie,  chappie,  jackfish."  The  American  red-start 
conies  to  our  very  feet,  the  yellow  warbler,  the  Tennessee 
warbler,  the  red-eyed  vireo,  and  the  magnolia  warbler, 
which  last,  a  young  Cree  tells  us,  is  "High-Chief-of-all- 
the-small-birds."  Rusty  blackbirds  are  here  with  slate- 
coloured  junco,  and  we  see  a  pair  of  purple  finches.  We  are 
fortunate  in  getting  a  picture  of  the  nest  of  the  Gambel 
sparrow  and  two  of  the  nesting  white-throated  sparrow. 
They  are  ferreted  out  for  us  by  the  sharp  eyes  of  a  girl  who 
says  her  Cree  name  is  "A-waiidering-bolt-of-night-light- 

108 


FORT  CHIPEWYAN  PAST  AND  PRESENT 

ning!"  At  our  feet  blossom  cinquefoil,  immortelles,  the 
dainty  flowers  of  the  bed-straw. 

It  has  been  a  full  day,  and  by  the  way  the  "permits"  are 
opening  up  in  the  settlement  when  we  come  back,  prom- 
ises to  be  a  full  night.  These  men  have  waited  a  whole 
year  for  a  drink,  and  now  the  lids  can't  come  off  quick 
enough.  "Come,  hurry  up,  Flynn,  we're  all  as  dry  as 
wooden  gods,  we're  so  dry  that  we're  brittle — we'd  break 
if  you  hit  us."  "Well,  I'm  hurrying;  I'm  as  much  in  a 
rush  as  any  of  you;  I'm  so  warped  the  hoops' are  falling 
off." 

It  doesn't  take  long  to  polish  off  the  permits  proper  (or 
improper).  By  morning  all  this  liquor,  imported  for 
"medicinal  purposes,"  is  gone.  Whoever  in  Chipewyan 
is  thoughtless  enough  to  get  ill  during  the  next  twelve 
months  must  fall  back  on  the  medicine-chest  of  the  Eng- 
lish Mission  or  of  the  Grey  Nuns.  Anything  strong  will 
do  for  the  creation  of  joyousness  during  the  remaining 
three  hundred  and  sixty-four  days  of  the  year — Jamaica 
ginger,  lavender-water,  flavouring  extracts. 

Next  morning  the  bon  vivants  of  Chipewyan  are  down 
to  essences  of  lemon,  vanilla,  and  ginger,  which  have  been 
specially  imported  as  stimulating  beverages.  We  ask  if 
they  are  any  good.  "Good?  I  should  say  so,  and  one 
bottle  just  makes  a  drink.  Can  I  offer"  (politely)  "to 
exhilarate  you  ladies  with  vanilla?"  The  most  jovial  of 
the  celebrants  tells  of  his  early  imbibition  of  red  ink.  "I 
used  to  get  a  gallon  of  red  ink  with  my  outfit  every  year, 
and  it  gives  you  the  good  feel,  but  when  this  new  Com- 
missioner comes  in  he  writes,  T  don't  see  how  you  can  use 
a  gallon  of  red  ink  at  your  post  in  one  year,'  and  I  writes 

109 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

back,  'What  we  don't  use  we  abuse,'  and  next  year  he 
writes  to  me,  'It's  the  abuse  we  complain  of,'  and,"  with 
regretful  reminiscence,  "I  got  no  more  red  ink/'  The 
substitution  of  red  tape  for  the  carmine  fluid  that  inebri- 
ates is  an  innovation  not  appreciated. 

The  old  records  fascinate  us.  We  spend  every  spare 
moment  before  the  coming  of  the  treaty  party  in  tran- 
scribing choice  bits  from  them.  There  were  drinks  and 
drinkers  in  these  old  days. 

"1830,  Friday  1st.  January.  All  hands  came  as  is  customary 
to  wish  us  the  compliments  of  the  season,  and  they  were  treated 
with  cakes  each,  a  pipe,  and  two  feet  tobacco.  In  the  evening 
they  have  the  use  of  the  hall  to  dance,  and  are  regaled  with  a 
beverage." 

"1830,  April  30.  Poitras,  a  Chipewyan  half-breed,  arrived,  and 
delivered  81  made  beavers  in  prime  furs,  though  he  says  he  has 
been  sickly  all  winter.  I  therefore  presented  him  with  a  complete 
clothing  and  a  Feather." 


,  May  1  6th.  One  of  our  Indians  having  been  in  company 
with  Indians  from  Isle  a  la  Crosse  got  married  to  one  of  their 
young  women,  consequently  has  followed  the  father-in-law  and 
taken  his  hunt  away  from  us." 

"1830,  August  I3th.     One   Indian,   The  Rat,  passed   us   on   the 
Portage,  he  was  treated  with  a  dram  for  'Old  Acquaintance'  sake." 

On  New  Year's  Eve  the  old  chronicler  drops  into  verse. 
In  tall  thin  letters  in  faded  ink  we  read, 

"If  New  Year's  Eve  the  wind  blow  south, 
It  betokeneth  warmth  and  growth  ; 
If  west,  much  milk,  and  fish  in  the  sea  ; 
If  north,  much  storms  and  cold  will  be  ; 
If  east,  the  trees  will  bear  much  fruit; 
If  northeast,  flee  it  man  and  beast." 
1  10 


FORT  CHIPEWYAN  PAST  AND  PRESENT 

"1831,  January  i.  The  thermometer  this  morning  was  29  below 
cypher.'' 

"1831,  May  22.  They  bring  intelligence  that  Mousi-toosese- 
capo  is  at  their  tent,  having  lately  joined  them,  without  his  family 
of  two  women  and  two  children,  who  perished  during  the  winter. 
From  his  frequent  prevarication  when  questioned  by  the  other 
Crees,  they  suspect  he  has  murdered  and  eaten  them." 

"1831,  May  30th.  The  fellow  has  got  too  large  a  family  for 
a  Fort  Hunter,  he  cannot  feed  them  with  unlimited  Indulgence 
and  supply  us  at  the  same  time."  [Would  Mr.  Roosevelt  second 
this?] 

"1831,  June  iyth.  Two  Chipewyans  came  from  the  Long 
Point  informing  us  that  Big  Head's  son  is  dead,  that  Big  Head 
has  thrown  away  his  property  in  consequence  of  the  loss  of  his 
boy,  and  that  he  told  them  to  beg  a  shirt  and  tobacco.  The  shirt, 
of  course,  I  did  not  send,  the  scoundrel  is  not  worthy  of  it.  I 
merely  sent  him  six  inches  of  tobacco  with  reluctance.  That 
cursed  family  is  a  perfect  pest  to  the  place,  and  it  is  my  humble 
opinion  that  the  hand  of  Providence  sends  them  the  present  calam- 
ity for  their  ill  deeds." [!] 

''1834,  November  2fth.  A  party  of  the  Isle  a  la  Crosse  Indians 
with  old  Nulooh  and  Gauche  cast  up.  They  have  not  come  in 
this  direction  for  the  sake  of  running  about,  some  of  their  rela- 
tions is  dead,  and  in  their  own  words  they  are  travelling  on  strange 
lands  to  kill  grief,  not  an  unusual  custom  among  the  Northern 
Indians." 

"1865,  October  23rd.  We  were  surprised  yesterday  at  the  ar- 
rival of  a  Protestant  missionary,  a  Mr.  Bompas  from  England ; 
he  came  in  a  canoe  from  the  Portage  with  Sylvestre  and  Vadnoit." 

"1866,  January  ist.  The  whole  Establishment  breakfasted  in 
the  Hall  and  in  the  evening  a  Ball  came  off  with  great  eclat.  Two 
marriages  also  to-day,  Francis  Villebrun  to  Marie  Cyre,  and  Bap- 
tiste  St.  Cyre,  Jr.,  to  Justine  McKay — so  that  all  things  considered 

III 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

the  New  Year  was  ushered  in  with  a  tremendous  row !     Verily, 
times  are  improving  in   the  North." 

"1866,  January  2nd.  The  men  are  rather  seedy  to-day  after 
their  tremendous  kick-up  of  yesterday." 

"1840,  January  2$th.  The  object  of  sending  Laficur  to  the  Little 
Island  is  that  he  may  procure  a  kind  of  willow  that  the  Canadians 
call  'Courmier,'  the  bark  of  which  scraped  and  boiled  in  water 
has  healing  qualities  which  they  think  will  be  of  great  service 
for  Hassel's  complaint.  Confidence  in  anything  is  half  the 
cure."[!] 

"1840,  February  ist.  Hassel  is  still  without  much  appearance 
for  the  better,  and  at  his  earnest  request  was  bled." 

"1841,  December  $ist.  The  men  from  the  Fishery  made  their 
appearance  as  usual  at  this  time,  and  as  usual,  too,  the  best  we 
had  (which  by-the-by  is  not  great  as  will  be  seen  by  this  journal) 
was  served  out  to  them.  The  other  men  had  the  time  to  themselves 
to  prepare  for  the  holiday  of  to-morrow,  for  the  Jour  dc  I'an  is 
the  greatest  day  of  the  Canadians  in  these  distant  Northern  posts. 
To  finish  things  properly  there  is  still  wanting  the  famous  aqua 
vitae,  which  we  are  sorry  to  state  is  not  in  our  means  to  furnish. 
Adieu  the  year  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and  forty-one !" 

"1842,  February  ijth.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Evans  proposing  to  take 
his  departure  to-morrow  for  Isle  a  la  Crosse  edified  us  with  a 
farewell  service,  several  of  the  women  and  children  were  baptized, 
and  Flett  and  Hassel  were  married  to  their  wives." 

From  the  records  we  compile  this  Chipewyan  calen- 
dar:— 

March  I7th,  House-flies. 
April  8th,    Grey  goose  seen. 
April   nth,  Catkins. 
April  1 2th,  Barking  crows. 
April  1 9th,  Blackbirds  and  mosquitoes. 

112 


FORT  CHIPEVVYAN  PAST  AND  PRESENT 

April  2ist,  Plover,  two  hawks,  and  a  butterfly. 

April  22nd,  Gulls,  white  waveys,  robins, 

April  28th,  White  cranes. 

April  3Oth,  Frogs,  most  of  snow  gone. 

May  2nd,  Dark  butterfly,  four  purple  crocuses. 

May  4th,  Frogs  noisy,  bumble  bees. 

May  5th,  Nearly  clear  of  ice. 

May  8th,  Water  from  Peace  River  flowing  into  lake.     An  Eagle. 

May  loth,  Sand  martins.     Ice  drifting  in  channel  in  front  of  fort. 

May  20th,  Swans  passing  north. 

May  2ist,  Trees  bursting  into  leaf. 

July  nth,  Strawberries  and  raspberries. 

August  1 8th,  Cranes  passing  south. 

October  nth,  Small  birds  passing  south. 

October  I2th,  First  ptarmigan  seen  about  the  fort. 

October  24th,  Lake  in  front  closed  up  this  morning. 


CHAPTER  VII 

LAKE  ATHABASCA  AND  ITS  FOND  DU  LAC 

''Afar  from  stir  of  streets, 
The  city's  dust  and  din, 
What  healing  silence  meets 
And  greets  us  gliding  in ! 

"The  noisy  strife 

And  bitter  carpings   cease. 
Here  is  the  lap  of  life, 

Here  are  the  lips  of  peace." 

—C.  G.  D.  Roberts. 

For  fresh  woods  and  pastures  new  this  Friday,  June 
26th!  Our  little  "bunch"  breaks  up.  Mr.  Brabant  and 
Mrs.  Harding,  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  contingent, 
go  on  in  the  Grahame  to  Smith's  Landing,  and  with  them 
the  two  detachments  of  the  R.  N.  W.  M.  P.  As  we  shake 
hands  with  the  police  party,  we  wonder  what  Fate  has  in 
store  for  each  of  us.  Breaking  off  at  Fort  Resolution, 
Great  Slave  Lake,  and  trending  eastward  by  canoe  over 
unchartered  ways,  will  they  reach  salt  water  on  Hudson 
Bay  as  they  hope  ? 

For  our  two  selves,  great  good  fortune  is  ours.  The 
Canadian  Government  Indian  Treaty  party,  consisting  of 
Mr.  Conroy  in  command,  Mr.  Laird  as  secretary,  Dr. 
Donald,  and  Mr.  Mooney  in  charge  of  the  commissariat, 
with  Constable  Gairdner,  R.  N.  W.  M.  P.,  as  escort,  has 
just  come  down  the  Peace.  To-day  they  pay  treaty  in 

114 


LAKE  ATHABASCA  AND  ITS  FOND  DU  LAC 

Chipewyan,  and  this  afternoon  start  for  far  Fond  clu  Lac, 
at  the  eastern  extremity  of  Lake  Athabasca.  The  little 
H.  B.  tug  Primrose  will  tow  them  and  their  outfit  in  a 
York-boat  and  a  scow,  and  the  captain  has  been  per- 
suaded to  allow  us,  too,  to  take  our  blankets  and  come  along, 


Lake  Athabasca  in  Winter 

sleeping  on  the  deck.  The  Primrose  from  stem  to  stern 
is  not  big  enough  to  swing  a  cat  in,  but  who  wants  to 
swing  a  cat?  It  is  blue  Lake  Athabasca  that  we  long  to 
see ;  no  white  woman  has  yet  traversed  it  to  its  eastern  ex- 
tremity and  we  would  go  if  we  had  to  work  our  passage  at 
the  sweeps  of  the  scow. 

Athabasca    Lake    (whose    name    means    "In    Muskeg 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Abounding"),  is  two  hundred  miles  long,  with  thirty-five 
miles  at  its  greatest  width.  It  lies  in  a  general  easterly 
and  westerly  direction.  No  survey  has  been  made  of  the 
lake;  its  height  above  ocean  level  is  seven  hundred  feet, 
and  it  covers  perhaps  three  thousand  square  miles.  Its 
chief  feeder  is  the  Athabasca  River,  down  which  we  have 
come  from  the  south.  This  stream,  assisted  by  the  Peace, 
is  fast  filling  up  with  detritus  the  western  portion  of  Lake 
Athabasca.  There  is  a  marked  contrast  between  the 
upper  and  lower  coasts  of  the  lake.  The  north  shore  con- 
sists of  Laurentian  gneiss  with  a  sparse  wood  growth ;  the 
south  bank  for  the  most  part  is  low,  the  formation  being  a 
cretaceous  sandstone.  Ice  holds  fast  this  beautiful  sheet 
for  six  months  every  year.  As  we  puff  along  the  surface 
of  its  incomparable  blue  it  is  hard  to  realise  that,  although 
the  Peace  and  Athabasca  Rivers  open  their  icy  mouths 
about  May-day,  parts  01  the  lake  are  not  free  for  travel  un- 
til mid-May.  The  lake  freezes  fast  at  Fort  Chipewyan 
some  time  in  November.  Lying  on  the  deck  of  the  tug,  we 
look  down  and  take  inventory  of  our  odd  tow.  Just  be- 
hind comes  the  scow.  It  holds  wood  for  the  engine,  a 
long  sled,  a  canoe,  a  "skift,"  all  this  year's  trading  sup- 
plies for  Fond  du  Lac,  and  half  a  dozen  chained  husky 
dogs.  Trailing  the  scow  is  a  York-boat  carrying  the 
treaty  party  and  Mr.  Harris. 

It  is  late  in  the  afternoon  when  we  pull  out  from 
Chipewyan,  but  the  sun  is  still  heaven-high,  with  the  off- 
shore air  a  tonic.  At  seven  o'clock  Colin  Fraser's  boat 
passes  us  with  Bishop  Grouard  standing  upright  at  the 
prow.  This  stately  figure,  clear-cut  against  the  sky-line, 
may  well  stand  as  the  type  of  the  pioneer  Church  of  the 

116 


LAKE  ATHABASCA  AND  ITS  FOND  DU  LAC 

Northland.  On  the  little  deck  we  can  use  the  camera 
with  facility  at  ten  in  the  evening,  and  the  typewriter  all 
night.  The  light  manifestation  is  a  marvel  and  wooes  us 


Bishop   Grouard 

from  sleep.  Have  we  not  all  the  tame  nights  of  the  after- 
days  for  slumber?  Here  we  lose  the  moon  and  those 
friendly  stars  which  at  Pelican  Portage  dipped  almost  to 
meet  our  hands.  No  more  are  we  to  see  them  until  the 

117 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Arctic  has  been  reached  and  we  have  turned  southward 
many,  many  hundreds  of  miles. 

Hours  since  all  the  badinage  was  silenced  in  the  York- 
boat  behind  us.  On  board  the  Primrose  the  mate  sleeps, 
and  Captain  Prothero  has  the  wheel.  I  creep  along  the 
wobbly  gunwale  to  sit  out  a  four  hours'  watch  with  him. 
"I  never  saw  any  one  navigate  as  you  do,  captain,  you 
seem  to  have  neither  chart  nor  compass." 

"No,"  assents  he,  biting  hard  on  the  little  black  pipe, 
"we  just  go  by  the  power  o'  man,"  and  with  the  words  a 
sharp  turn  of  the  wheel  lurches  us  out  from  the  lee  of  a 
batture.  The*  jolt  jerks  up  its  passengers  in  the  semi- 
detached steerage.  A  growling  of  huskies,  a  kick,  and 
a  muttered  adjuration  in  Cree,  and  all  is  silent  again. 

By  six  o'clock  every  one  is  astir,  and  Saturday  is  a  long 
glorious  day.  At  noon  we  stop  to  take  aboard  an  Indian 
who  hails  us  from  the  scrub-pine,  sore  afraid  that  he  will 
miss  connection  with  his  five  dollar  treaty  present  from  the 
Government.  It  is  good  to  stretch  out  on  the  grass  after 
this  somewhat  restricted  Primrose  path  of  dalliance.  In 
front  of  us  extends  a  long  row  of  islands,  in  the  hot  haze 
suspended  midway  between  blue  of  lake  and  blue  of  sky. 
Their  covering  of  baby-willows  suggests  a  face  guilty  of  a 
three  days'  beard.  We  rest,  so  far  as  the  mosquitoes 
think  it  proper  we  should  rest,  on  a  bed  of  reindeer  moss 
(cladonia  rangifcrinaf) ,  the  tripe  dc  roche  of  the  North. 
This  constitutes  almost  the  sole  winter-food  of  the  rein- 
deer, its  gelatinous  or  starchy  matter  giving  the  nutritive 
property  to  the  odd-looking  stuff.  Reindeer-moss  has 
saved  the  life  of  many  an  Indian  lost  in  these  woods.  We 
try  it,  and  find  the  taste  slightly  pungent  and  acrid;  but 

118 


LAKE  ATHABASCA  AND  ITS  FOND  DU  LAC 

when  boiled  it  forms  a  jelly  said  to  be  nourishing  and 
tonic. 

No  orders  are  given  when  we  land,  and  we  study  coun- 
tenances and  actions  to  guess  the  time-limit  of  our  tether. 
For  twenty-four  hours  we  have  wondered  if  there  were 
trout  in  Lake  Athabasca  and  if  they  would  rise  to  the  fly. 
With  a  borrowed  rod  we  take  a  canoe  and  off  the  shadow 


The  Modern  Note-book 

of  a  cottonwood  point  try  a  cast  at  random.  The  gut  car- 
ries three  flies — a  brown  hackle,  a  coachman,  with  a  Jock 
Scott  at  the  tail — a  rainbow  aggregation.  To  the  coach- 
man we  get  a  rise  and  it  takes  three  of  us  to  land  him. 
There  are  no  scales;  so  his  weight  must  forever  be  unre- 
corded, but  as  we  lay  him  out  he  measures  just  a  trifle 
over  twenty-three  inches,  as  beautiful  a  lake  trout  as  ever 
sent  thrill  up  and  down  a  sympathetic  spine.  Bye-and-bye 

119 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

this  road  we  travel  is  going  to  be  listed  on  the  sporting 
routes  of  the  world,  and  tired  souls  from  the  Seven  Seas 
with  rod  and  gun  will  here  find  Nepenthe. 

Clutching  our  catch,  we  step  gingerly  along  an  out- 
stretched oar  and  climb  on  board.  The  orders  of  the  cap- 
tain to  the  mate  are  sporty  and  suggest  turf  rather  than 
surf.  "Kick  her  up,  Mac!"  "Give  her  a  kick  ahead!" 
"Who-o-oa!"  On  Sunday  evening,  June  28th,  we  reach 
Fond  du  Lac,  clinging  close  to  the  water-line  on  her  beauti- 
ful stretch  of  sand.  All  unregarded  are  the  church-bells, 
and  the  Indians  crowd  to  meet  us, — bent  old  crones,  strong 
men,  and  black-eyed  babies.  For  is  not  the  coming  of  the 
treaty  party  the  one  event  of  the  Fond  du  Lac  year  ? 

Half  way  along  the  traverse  of  the  lake  we  had  crossed 
the  inter-Provincial  boundary,  and  now  find  ourselves 
near  the  northern  limit  of  the  Province  of  Saskatchewan, 
and  in  the  latitude  of  Sweden's  Stockholm.  There  are  but 
two  people  in  Fond  du  Lac  who  speak  English, — Mr.  Har- 
ris who  trades  fur  with  the  Indians,  and  Father  Beihler 
who  would  fain  shepherd  their  souls. 

These  Caribou-Eater  Indians  are  true  nomads  who  come 
into  the  post  only  at  treaty-payment  time  or  to  dispose 
of  their  hunt.  In  the  moon-when-thc-birds-cast-their- 
feathers  (July)  they  will  press  back  east  and  north  to 
the  land  of  the  caribou.  September,  the-moon-when-tlic- 
moose-loose-their-horns,  will  find  them  camping  on  the 
shore  of  some  far  unnamed  lake,  and  by  the  time  of  the 
hoar-frost-moon,  or  the  ice-moon,  they  will  be  laying  lines 
of  traps. 

We  have  learned  to  estimate  the  prosperity  or  otherwise 
of  the  Indians  by  the  condition  of  their  dogs.  Fond  du 

1 20 


LAKE  ATHABASCA  AND  ITS  FOND  DU  LAC 

Lac  dogs  are  fat;  each  baby  in  its  moss-bag  exudes  oil 
from  every  pore.  Peace  and  Plenty  have  crowned  the 
Caribou-Eaters  during  the  winter  that  is  past.  The  law 
of  Saskatchewan  permits  the  taking  of  the  beaver.  Alberta 
for  the  present  has  enacted  restrictive  legislation  on  this 


Tepee  of  a  Caribou-Eater  Indian 

hunt,  to  which  restriction,  by  the  way,  among  the  Indians 
at  the  treaty-tent  at  Chipewyan,  objection  had  been  loud 
and  eloquent. 

We  call  upon  Mr.  Harris  and  his  Chipewyan  wife,  a 
tall  handsome  woman  whom  he  addresses  as  "Josette." 
Their  three  girls  are  being  educated  in  the  convent  at  Fort 
Chipewyan.  The  room  in  which  we  sit  reflects  the  graft- 
ing of  red  life  on  white.  A  rough  bookcase  of  birchwood, 
10  121 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

with  thumbed  copies  of  schoolboy  classics,  Carlyle,  the 
Areopagitica,  and  the  latest  Tractate  on  Radium,  gives 
one  a  glimpse  of  the  long,  long  winter  nights  when  all 
race  and  latitude  limitations  fade  away  and  the  mind  of 
the  Master  of  Fond  du  Lac  jumps  the  barrier  of  ice  and 
snow  to  mix  with  the  great  world  of  thought  outside. 
"Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make  nor  iron  bars  a  cage." 
Fighting  our  way  with  the  mosquitoes,  under  birches 
somewhat  dwarfed  but  beautiful,  through  a  pungent 
bocage  of  ground  pine,  wild  roses,  giant  willow-herb,  mints 
innumerable  and  Labrador  tea  (Ledum  latifolium),  we 
reach  the  H.  B.  garden  where  the  potatoes  are  six  or  eight 
inches  high.  We  wander  into  a  little  graveyard,  surely 
the  most  lonely  God's  acre  in  all  Canada.  The  inscrip- 
tions in  syllabic  Chipewyan  show  the  patient  devotion  of 
Father  Beihler,  who  comes  across  us  as  we  gaze  at  the 
graves.  Eight  long  years  the  priest  has  put  in  at  Fond 
du  Lac,  sent  here  when  but  three  months  in  the  priesthood. 
His  English,  acquired  from  Mr.  Harris,  is  a  bit  hesitating. 
His  home  was  in  Alsace-Lorraine;  he  tells  us  his  mother 
was  out  of  her  mind  for  three  days  when  he  was  ordered 
here,  and  he  himself  wept.  White  women  are  a  rara  avis. 
Father  Beihler  wants  to  know  how  old  we  are  and  if  we 
are  Catholics  and  how  much  money  we  earn.  Pointing 
wisely  to  the  Kid,  he  assures  me,  "They  are  not  an-gell 
(angel)  at  that  age,"  and  says,  "I  am  not  a  woman-hater, 
and  I  am  not  a  woman  cherchcr."  The  priest  is  as  great 
a  curiosity  to  us  as  we  are  to  him,  and  each  is  interested  in 
studying  a  new  kind  of  animal.  One  sympathy  we  have 
in  common, — the  good  Father  knows  every  bird  that  flies 
over  Fond  du  Lac.  Who  can  tell  what  they  whisper  to 

122 


LAKE  ATHABASCA  AND  ITS  FOND  DU  LAC 

him  of  the  sweet  Alsace  so  far  away?  We  are  treated  to 
peeps  into  the  nests  of  the  orange-crowned  warbler,  the 
hermit  thrush,  and  that  shy  wader,  the  spotted  sandpiper. 
These  ultimate  woods  fascinate  us,  with  their  worn 
north  trails  of  the  trapper  beaten  as  hard  as  asphalt  with 
the  moccasins  of  generations.  The  father  of  the  Chipew- 
yan  down  at  the  tents  receiving  his  treaty  money  to-day 


A  Bit  of  Fond  du  Lac 

and  his  grandfather  before  him  trod  these  same  trails  and 
served  The  Company.  Dusky  feet  trod  these  paths  when 
good  Queen  Anne  ruled  in  England,  men  made  toilsome 
portages  up  these  waterways,  and  here  Crowfoot  and 
Running  Rabbit  and  Gaston  Lamousette  kept  undisturbed 
the  tenour  of  their  way  and  matched  wits  with  Carcajou  the 
wolverine. 

To  the  student  who  would  read  at  first  hand  the  story 
of  fur,  more  interesting  than  dark  otters,  Hudson  Bay 
sables,  or  silver-fox,  one  form  silhouettes  on  the  white 

123 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

canvas  of  the  North.  It  is  the  figure  of  the  Trapper. 
Here,  as  elsewhere,  the  man  who  mixes  brains  with  his 
bait  and  makes  a  scientific  art  of  a  rude  craft  is  the  man 
who  succeeds.  It  is  a  contest  of  wit  worthy  the  cleverest. 
The  animals,  as  the  years  pass,  become  more  rather  than 
less  wary,  and  the  days  of  the  magenta  string  tying  a 
chunk  of  fat  to  a  nice  new  shiny  trap  are  long  past.  The 
man  who  used  to  "make  fur"  in  that  way  is,  like  Fenimore 
Cooper's  Indians,  the  extinct  product  of  a  past  race  that 
never  existed. 

The  Chipewyan  trapper  eats  at  once,  or  dries  for  the 
future,  every  ounce  of  flesh  he  traps,  from  the  scant  flesh- 
covering  over  the  animal's  skull  to  the  feet  and  the  entrails. 
As  soon  as  the  skins  of  beaver  and  musquash  are  removed, 
the  bodies,  so  many  skinned  cats,  are  impaled  on  sticks 
of  jack-pine  and  set  sizzling  before  the  fire.  In  the  woods 
as  in  the  camp,  the  laborious  work  falls  to  the  woman. 
Lordly  man  kills  the  animal  and  that  is  all.  With  her 
babies  on  her  back  or  toddling  by  her  side,  the  wife  trails 
the  game  home  on  hand-sled,  and  afterwards  in  camp  she 
must  dress  the  meat  and  preserve  the  skin. 

The  band  of  Fond  du  Lac  Indians  is  the  largest  in  the 
whole  North,  and  they  are  perhaps  the  least  unspoiled  of 
"civilisation,"  as  their  range  is  removed  from  the  north- 
and-south  route  afforded  by  the  Mackenzie.  To-morrow 
the  treaty  party  will  'leave,  the  skin  tepees  will  be  pulled 
down,  and  in  those  beautiful  birchbark  canoes  whole  fam- 
ilies will  be  on  the  move.  These  people  are  essentially 
meat-eaters.  Their  hearts  have  not  learned  to  hunger  for 
those  soggy  bannocks,  unventilated  shacks,  and  sheet-iron 
stoves  which  are  luring  their  tribal  cousins  on  the  germ- 

124 


LAKE  ATHABASCA  AND  ITS  FOND  DU  LAC 

strewn  way  to  higher  culture  with  convenient  stopping- 
places  in  the  graves  by  the  wayside. 

Starting  from  Fond  du  Lac  in  July,  a  Chipewyan  family 
sets  out  in  two  canoes,  the  big  communal  one,  and  the  little 
hunting-canoe,  the  dogs  following  along  shore.  It  is  pad- 
dle and  portage  for  days  and  weary  weeks,  inland  and  ever 


Birch-barks   at   Fond   du   Lac 

inland.  In  October  the  frost  crisps  into  silence  the  run- 
ning water  and  the  lake  lip.  Snow  begins  to  fall,  and  the 
grind  of  forming  ice  warns  the  Chipewyan  it  is  time  to 
change  birchbark  for  moccasin  and  snow-shoe.  Canoes  are 
cached,  and  the  trail  strikes  into  the  banksian  pine  and 
birchwood.  The  door  of  the  forest  is  lonely  and  eerie, 
It  no  longer  seems  incongruous  that,  although  Big  Par- 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

triclge  wears  a  scapular  on  his  burnt-umber  breast  and 
carries  with  him  on  his  journey  the  blessing  of  Father 
Beihler,  he  also  murmurs  the  hunting  incantation  of  the 
Chipewyans  and  hangs  the  finest  furs  of  his  traps  flapping 
in  the  top  of  the  jack-pine,  a  sop  to  the  Cerberus  of  Mitchie 
Manitou,  the  feared  Spirit  of  the  Wood. 

Winter  sees  Indian  families,  each  little  group  a  vignette 
in  the  heart  of  the  wider  panorama,  flitting  over  lake  sur- 
faces to  ancestral  fur-preserves.  In  the  early  snow  they 
pitch  tepee,  family  fires  are  lighted,  and  from  this  centre 
the  trapper  radiates.  The  man  sets  his  traps,  and  if  the 
couple  is  childless  his  wife  makes  an  'independent  line  of 
snares.  Each  individual  traps  for  miles  and  days  alone, 
and  an  accident  in  the  woods  means  a  death  as  lonely  and 
agonising  as  that  of  the  animal  he  snares.  With  blanket, 
bait,  and  bacon  on  a  small  hand-sled,  silently  the  trapper 
trudges  forward.  The  Northern  Lights  come  down  o' 
nights,  and  it  is  cold;  but  cold  makes  finer  fur.  Down  far 
trails  in  gloomy  forests,  across  the  breasts  of  silent  streams, 
the  Chipewyan  trudges  from  trap  to  trap;  if  he  finds  fifty 
dollars  worth  of  fur  along  the  whole  line  he  is  content. 
It  is  not  this  lonely  man  who  gets  the  high  price,  madame, 
for  your  marten  stole  or  opera-cloak  of  ermine. 

On  the  trail  the  hunter  may  go  hungry  for  two  days  and 
no  word  of  complaint,  just  a  tightening  of  the  lips  and 
L'Assumption  belt,  and  a  firm  set  to  the  jaw;  but  when  a 
moose  is  killed  life  is  one  long  supper.  A  jolly  priest  whis- 
pers of  this  confession  from  a  son  of  the  Church,  a  recent 
brand  from  the  burning,  "O  Father,  I  know  that  Christian- 
ity is  true,  the  great,  the  strong  religion.  When  I  was  a 
heathen  Chipewyan  and  trapped  with  my  mother's  tribe  I 

126 


LAKE  ATHABASCA  AND  ITS  FOND  DU  LAC 

ate  ten  rabbits  a  day.  But  now  I  am  a  Christian,  .a  good 
Catholic,  seven  rabbits  are  enough  for  me — I  will  eat 
no  more!" 

In  the  early  days  the  H.  B.  Company  allowed  its  men 
en  voyage  five  pounds  of  meat  a  day,  and  each  kiddie  three 
pounds.  In  British  Columbia  and  the  Yukon  the  ration 
was  one  salmon ;  up  here  on  the  Athabasca  one  wild  goose 
or  three  big  whitefish;  on  the  Arctic  foreshore  two  fish 
and  three  pounds  of  reindeer  meat.  This  was  the  sched- 
uled fare,  but  the  grimness  of  the  joke  appears  in  the  fact 
that  each  man  had  to  run  his  breakfast  to  earth  before 
he  ate  it. 

Forty  miles  a  day  from  trap  to  trap  is  a  hard  tramp  on 
snowshoes  when  the  wind  sweeps  down  from  the  Arctic 
and  the  silence  can  be  felt.  The  whole  thing  is  a  Louisi- 
ana lottery.  The  very  next  trap  may  hold  a  silver-fox 
that  spells  kudos  for  a  year  round  the  winter  camp-fires 
and  a  trade  valuation  of  one  hundred  dollars  from  the 
tempting  stores  of  Mr.  Harris.  As  long  as  the  red  fox 
brings  forth  her  cubs  to  play  in  the  starlight  and  marten 
and  musquash  increase  after  their  kind,  just  so  long  will 
there  be  trappers  and  sons  of  trappers  setting  out  from 
Fond  du  Lac.  In  October  or  November  these  Chipewyans 
will  meet  the  migrating  caribou  on  the  northern  side  of 
Athabasca  Lake.  Caribou  skins  are  in  prime  condition 
then  to  make  coats  and  robes,  and  caribou  venison,  fresh 
or  dried,  is  the  daily  bread  which  Providence  sends  to  these 
far  folk.  About  Christmas  time,  if  they  find  themselves 
at  a  convenient  distance  from  the  post,  the  Indians  come 
in  to  Fond  du  Lac  to  trade  their  furs  with  Mr.  Harris  and 
to  get  from  Father  Beihler  the  blessing  of  Mother  Church. 

127 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Out  they  go  again  and  make  their  spring  hunt  of  otter, 
bear,  and  beaver,  whose  skins  they  bring  in  when  they 
come  for  their  treaty  money  and  annual  reunion  in  July. 

Interesting  indeed  is  the  life-history  of  the  Barren 
Ground  caribou  (rangifer  articus),  whose  migrant  hordes 
to-day  rival  in  number  the  bands  of  the  dead  and  gone  buf- 
falo. Caribou  go  north  in  spring  and  south  in  autumn, 
as  the  birds  do;  and,  unlike  the  seals,  the  female  caribou 
form  the  advance  line.  They  drop  their  young  far  out 
toward  the  seacoast  in  June,  by  which  month  the  ground 
is  showing  up  through  melting  snow.  The  male  caribou 
never  reach  the  coast,  but  join  their  wives  and  make  the 
acquaintance  of  their  babies  at  the  end  of  July.  From  this 
time  they  stay  together  till  the  rutting  season  is  over  late 
in  October.  Then  the  great  herds  of  caribou, — "la 
foule," — gather  on  the  edge  of  the  woods  and  start  on 
their  southern  migrations  toward  the  shelter  and  food 
afforded  by  the  country  of  the  larger  pine  trees.  A  month 
later  the  females  and  males  separate,  the  cows  with  their 
intent  fixed  on  the  uttermost  edge  of  things  beginning  to 
work  their  way  north  toward  the  end  of  February  and 
reaching  the  edge  of  the  woods  by  April. 

This  is  the  general  rule.  Broadly  speaking,  the  north 
shore  of  Athabasca  Lake  to-day  forms  the  southern  limit 
of  the  caribou  range,  while  the  Mackenzie  River  makes  a 
natural  dividing-line  between  eastward  and  westward 
branches  of  the  caribou  family.  But  the  trend  of  this 
mighty  migration  will  not  be  pent  between  mathematical 
lines  of  limitation,  and  the  direction  of  prevailing  winds 
may  turn  the  numberless  hosts  and  divert  them  from  their 
line  of  march.  Individuals  and  scattered  bands,  indeed, 

128 


LAKE  ATHABASCA  AND  ITS  FOND  DU  LAC 

have  been  known  not  to  migrate  at  all.  Fifteen  years  ago 
in  the  last  days  of  July,  in  latitude  62°  15'  North,  the 
Tyrrell  Brothers  saw  a  herd  of  caribou  which  they  estimate 
contained  over  one  hundred  thousand  individuals.  In  1877 
a  line  of  caribou  crossed  Great  Slave  Lake  near  Fort  Rae 
on  the  ice.  It  took  them  two  weeks  to  pass  that  point, 
and,  in  the  words  of  an  eye-witness,  "daylight  could  not 
be  seen  through  the  column." 

A  priest,  on  the  winter  trail  between  Fond  du  Lac  and 
Fort  Chipewyan  a  few  winters  ago,  was  travelling  with- 
out fire-arms  and,  as  his  trail  crossed  that  of  the  moving 
caribou,  he  had  to  delay  his  journey  till  they  deigned  to 
give  him  the  right  of  way.  It  was  impossible  to  pass 
through  their  ranks,  and  he  hadn't  even  the  satisfaction 
of  making  a  fat  bull  pay  tribute  to  his  Mother  Hubbard 
cupboard. 

Mr.  Hislop,  a  fur-trader  of  Great  Slave  Lake,  said  to 
the  writer,  "At  Fort  Rae  the  caribou  are  and  always  have 
been  very  plentiful,  I  don't  think  they  will  ever  die  out." 
Rae  was  the  old  meat-station  for  the  Far  North,  and  the 
records  show  that  after  supplying  local  needs  three  thou- 
sand tongues  were  often  exported  in  one  season.  If  one 
intercepts  a  caribou-band  in  a  little  lake  he  may  with 
patience  kill  them  all  without  any  trouble,  as  they  run  round 
and  round  on  the  ice,  mystified  by  the  wood-echoes  and  the 
reverberation  of  the  shots. 

When  the  Chipewyan  filters  into  southern  latitudes  and 
weakens  with  pink  teas  the  virility  that  should  go  with  red 
blood,  aping  the  elect  he  will  cast  round  for  a  suitable 
coat-of-arms.  The  proper  caper  for  him  would  be  the 
caribou  rampant  with  a  whitefish  flotsam.  The  whitefish 

129 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

(coregonus  clupeiformis)  is  gregarious,  reaching  shallow 
water  to  spawn.  Wherever  you  see  Indian  tepee-poles  by 
the  side  of  Northern  waters  you  may  guess  that  to  be  a 
good  fishing  spot.  The  poles  are  always  hospitably  left 
for  the  next  comer,  the  Indian  merely  carrying  with  him 
the  skin  or  canvas  cover  of  his  tepee.  The  location  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  forts  was  in  the  beginning  determined  by 
the  good  fishing-grounds,  although  now  there  is  but  indif- 
ferent fishing  near  some  of  the  posts.  It  would  almost 
seem  that  the  whitefish  have  in  their  chilly  veins  as  variable 
blood  as  any  vagrant  horde  of  caribou.  The  whitefish 
contains  all  elements  necessary  for  human  nourishment, 
and  it  is  a  happy  fact  that  it  does,  for  men  and  dogs  in  the 
North  often  live  for  solid  months  on  nothing  else.  It  is 
a  rich  fat  fish  and  the  usual  mode  of  cooking  it  is  by  boiling. 
Northern  people  tell  you  that  it  is  the  only  fish  whose  taste 
will  never  produce  satiety,  as  it  becomes  daily  more  agree- 
able to  the  palate.  I  can't  say  that  it  worked  on  our 
sensibilities  in  just  that  way.  But  it  is  the  old  story  of 
de  gustibus,  etc.  We  see  the  Fond  du  Lac  people  this 
evening  roasting  upon  the  coals,  as  choice  tit-bits,  the  stom- 
achs of  the  whitefish.  Scraping  the  dirt  and  ashes  from 
the  blackened  morsel,  they  offer  it  to  us  as  one  would  pass 
the  olives  in  those  lands  so  far  below  us  where  people  wear 
dress-suits  and  railroads  run.  It  is  all  a  matter  of  lati- 
tude, after  all,  for  when  a  bottle  of  olives  was  salved  from 
the  wrecked  scow  we  had  overheard  this  dialogue  between 
two  boatmen,  as  surreptitiously  they  broached  cargo.  "Do 
you  like  these  ?"  " Yes."  "You're  a  liar !"  On  the  Atha- 
basca trail,  too,  we  had  seen  an  untried  soul  struggling 
with  his  first  olive.  It  was  Shorty,  the  lightning-stricken 

130 


LAKE  ATHABASCA  AND  ITS  FOND  DU  LAC 

heir  of  the  house  of  Kennedy.  He  coveted  one  of  the 
"plums"  from  our  lunch-basket,  and  was  much  surprised 
when  we  suggested  that  it  was  an  olive.  "What  are 
them?"  "Olives,"  we  elucidated;  "they  come  from  South- 
ern Europe  by  steamer."  "Do  they?"  (slightingly). 
"The  one  I  et  must  have  come  steerage." 

We  are  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  other  Northern  deli- 
cacies,— beaver-tails,  moose-nose,  rabbits'  kidneys,  caribou- 
tongues,  and  the  liver  of  the  loche,  an  ugly-looking  fish 
of  these  waters.  But  the  whitefish  remains  the  staple; 
the  fish-harvest  here  is  as  important  a  season  as  Harvest 
Home  elsewhere.  At  the  fishery,  whitefish  are  hung  upon 
sticks  across  a  permanent  staging  to  dry  and  freeze;  an 
inch-thick  stick  is  pierced  through  the  tail,  and  the  fish 
hang  head  downwards  in  groups  of  ten.  This  process 
makes  the  flesh  firmer  if  the  days  continue  cool,  but  if  the 
weather  turns  mild  as  the  fish  are  hanging  they  acquire 
both  a  flavour  and  a  smell  exceedingly  gamy.  This  is  the 
"Fall  Fishery."  Winter  fishing  is  done  through  holes  in 
the  ice,  the  net  being  spread  by  means  of  a  long  thin  pole. 
The  handling  of  net  and  fish  is  terrible  work  in  the  bitter 
cold. 

As  a  whole,  Canadian  Indians  are  more  independent  than 
those  of  the  United  States,  and  certainly  they  have  been 
more  fairly  dealt  with  in  Canada  than  in  the  sister  Repub- 
lic. There  is  in  the  Dominion  to-day  an  Indian  population 
of  110,000.  The  amount  expended  last  year  by  Canada 
from  the  Consolidated  Revenue  Fund  for  her  Indian  De- 
partment was  $1,358,254.  The  Canadian  Government  has 
sedulously  kept  faith  with  its  Indians  and  has  refrained 
from  pauperizing  them  by  pap-feeding  or  ration-folly ;  very 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

largely  to-day  the  Canadian  Indian  plays  the  game  off  his 
own  bat. 

Into  the  sturdy  and  intelligent  faces  of  the  Fond  du  Lac 
Indian  we  look,  seeking  in  vain  any  trace  of  "the  wild 
Red  Man."  The  raison  d'etre  of  these  annual  "treaty- 
payment  parties"  is  merely  the  acknowledgment  on  one 
side  and  the  recognition  on  the  other  that  the  Northern 
Indian  is  a  British  subject  protected  by  and  amenable  to 
British  law.  In  addition  to  the  present  of  five  dollars  per 
head  each  year,  the  Canadian  Government  sends  in  by  the 
Indian  Agent  presents  of  fishing  twine  and  ammunition, 
with  eleemosynary  bacon  for  the  indigent  and  old.  The 
chiefs  strut  around  in  official  coats  enriched  with  yellow 
braid,  wearing  medals  as  big  as  dinner-plates. 

From  Edmonton  northward  to  Fort  Chipewyan  the  In- 
dians are  all  Crees.  At  Fort  Chipewyan  the  northern  limit 
of  the  Crees  impinges  on  the  southern  limit  of  the  Chipew- 
yan, but  here  at  Fond  du  Lac  the  Indians  are  all  true 
Chipewyans.  The  Chipewyan  wife  is  the  New  Red 
Woman.  We  see  in  her  the  essential  head  of  the  house- 
hold. No  fur  is  sold  to  the  trader,  no  yard  or  pound  of 
goods  bought,  without  her  expressed  consent.  Indeed,  the 
traders  refuse  to  make  a  bargain  of  any  kind  with  a  Chip- 
ewyan man  without  the  active  approbation  of  the  wife. 
When  a  Chipewyan  family  moves  camp,  it  is  Mrs.  Chipew- 
yan who  directs  the  line  of  march.  How  did  she  happen 
to  break  away  from  the  bonds  that  limit  and  restrain  most 
Red  brides?  This  is  the  question  that  has  troubled  eth- 
nologists since  the  North  was  first  invaded  by  the  scientific. 
We  think  we  have  found  the  answer.  Along  the  shores 
of  Fond  du  Lac  we  descry  a  long-legged  wader,  the  phal- 

132 


LAKE  ATHABASCA  AND  ITS  FOND  DU  LAC 

arope.  This  is  the  militant  suffragette  of  all  bird-dom. 
Madame  Phalarope  lays  her  own  eggs  (this  depository  act 
could  scarcely  be  done  by  proxy),  but  in  this  culminates 
and  terminates  all  her  responsibilities  connubial  and  ma- 
ternal,— "this,  no  more."  Father  Phalarope  builds  the 
house,  the  one  hen-pecked  husband  of  all  feathered  families 
who  does.  Lie  alone  incubates  the  eggs,  and  when  the 
little  Phalaropes  are  ushered  into  the  vale,  it  is  Papa  who 
tucks  their  bibs  under  their  chins  and  teaches  them  to  peep 
their  morning  grace  and  to  eat  nicely.  Mamma,  mean- 
while, contrary  to  all  laws  of  the  game,  wears  the  brilliant 
plumage.  When  evening  shadows  fall  where  rolls  the 
Athabasca,  she  struts  long-leggedly  with  other  female 
phalaropes,  and  together  they  discuss  the  upward  strug- 
gles toward  freedom  of  their  unfeathered  prototypes. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

FOND    DU    LAC    TO    FORT    SMITH 

"On  we  tramped  exultantly,  and  no  man  was  our  master, 

And  no  man  guessed  what  dreams  were  ours,  as  swinging  heel 

and  toe, 

We  tramped  the  road  to  Anywhere,  the  magic  road  to  anywhere, 
The  tragic  road  to  Anywhere  but  one  dear  year  ago." 

— Service. 

Everybody  is  to  say  farewell  to  Fond  du  Lac  to-day,  June 
29th,  so  there  is  a  hurried  finishing  up  of  loose  ends.     A 


Fond  du  Lac 


loud  yowl  as  of  a  lost  soul  letting  go  of  life  starts  the 
lake  echoes !  No  hand  is  staining  itself  in  brother's  blood. 
The  treaty  doctor,  who  visits  these  people,  to  use  their 

134 


FOND  DU  LAC  TO  FORT  SMITH 

own  word,  "as  a  bird  on  the  wing*,"  has  just  succeeded  in 
extracting  a  tooth  for  a  Chipewyan  bride,  Misere  Bonnet 
Rouge.  Misere  looks  ashamed  of  her  howl  when  the  'ope- 
ration is  over,  and  lisping,  "Merci  very,"  bears  off  in  ex- 
pansive triumph  the  detached  molar. 

Down  at  the  lake  edge,  belly  prone,  men  and  women  lap 
the  water  as  dogs  do,  while  the  festive  small  boy  from  the 
Government  bags  of  poor-house  bacon  is  slyly  licking  the 
oozing  fat.  Of  the  taste  of  red-cheeked  apples  and  chew- 
ing-gum he  is  guiltless;  popcorn,  bananas,  and  the  succu- 
lent peanut  are  alike  alien.  This  pee-mee  or  oil  of  bacon 
is  delicious  morsel  enough  for  his  red  palate.  We  trade 
a  brier  pipe  with  young  McDonald,  a  full-blood,  for  his 
beautiful  hat-band  of  porcupine  quills,  and  in  the  French 
of  the  North  he  confides  to  us,  "I  have  two  boys.  The 
mother  can  have  the  younger  one  to  help  her  in  the  house, 
and  the  priest  can  teach  him  to  be  a  white  man  if  he  likes ; 
but  the  other  one  goes  with  me,  no  school  for  him.  I  will 
make  him  a  hunter  like  myself."  Last  year  McDonald 
went  into  the  woods  on  New  Year's  Day  and  didn't  return 
until  June,  when  he  came  back  with  three  hundred  caribou. 

Father  Beihler  is  carrying  a  cup  of  water  up  to  a  tepee 
where  an  old  Indian  lies  dying,  to  whom  he  is  giving 
extreme  unction.  The  slanting  sun  strikes  the  tin  cup 
and  the  big  crucifix  of  the  good  Father,  and  so  we  leave 
Fond  du  Lac. 

It  is  a  beautiful  shore,  but  lonely  even  now  in  the  efful- 
gence of  the  midsummer  sun ;  what  it  is  like  in  winter  we 
scarcely  care  to  conjecture.  A  half-breed  at  our  elbow 
tells  how  last  year  a  small  boy  came  out  here  on  the  ice 
playing  with  his  sled.  He  slipped  and  fell,  and  the  hungry 

135 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

dogs  from  the  shore,  seeing  the  fur-clad  figure  squirming 
on  the  ice,  took  it  for  some  stranded  animal  and  full- 
mouthed  were  down  on  him.  The  little  chap  was  killed 


Father  Beihler  Carrying  Water  to  a  Dying  Indian 

and  partly  devoured  before  any  one  had  missed  him  from 
the  camps. 

The  man  who  tells  the  story  crosses  himself  piously  and 


FOND  DU  LAC  TO  FORT  SMITH 

immediately  begins  a  bit  of  rag-time  of  the  vintage  of  '08. 
We  ask  him  where  he  heard  the  tune.  "O,  I  catch  him 
from  the  phunny-graph,  me  at  the  Mission."  Canned  cul- 
ture even  here !  It  is  light  enough  to  read  on  the  deck  at 
quarter  past  eleven.  We  chunk  along  through  a  lake  of 
amethyst  and  opal,  the  marvellous  midnight  light  keeping 
us  from  sleep.  On  the  scow  astern,  sprawled  on  the  sea- 
son's output  of  fur,  the  men  smoke  and  argue.  In  the 
North,  men  talk  of  feats  of  strength  and  endurance,  boast 
about  their  dogs,  and  discuss  food.  Two  kindred  souls 
may  hark  back  to  boyhood  days  and  quote  a  page  of  Virgil 
or  demonstrate  on  a  bit  of  birchbark  the  forty-seventh 
proposition  of  Euclid,  but  you  overheard  no  discussion  of 
elections  or  ward-politics,  no  chatter  of  the  marketplace. 
That  is  all  "long  ago  and  far  away."  To-night  it  is  "You 
know  there  are  fellows  in  here  who  can  run  like  hell.  The 
world's  record  is  beaten  every  winter."  "The  world's 
record  in  lying,  do  you  mean?"  "No,  running — a  man 
can  run  one  hundred  miles  a  day  in  this  country."  "Well, 
what  makes  a  day?"  "Twelve  hours, — that  is  what  I 
learned  at  school."  "No:  there's  twenty-four  hours  in  a 
day."  "Well,  a  day,  /  take  it,  is  as  far  as  you  can  go 
without  stoppin' — it  never  gets  dark,  so  how  is  a  man  to 
know  what's  a  day?" 

We  reach  Chipewyan  Wednesday,  July  ist,  and  there 
is  no  soul  who  cares  a  whitefish  for  the  fact  that  this  is 
Dominion  Day,  Canada's  national  holiday.  For  our  din- 
ner Mrs.  Johnson  gives  us  home-grown  parsley,  radishes, 
lettuce,  and  green  onions;  the  potatoes  are  eight  or  ten 
inches  high,  and  rhubarb  stalks  an  inch  and  a  half  in  diam- 
eter. Wild  gooseberries  are  big  enough  to  make  delec- 
11  137 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

table  "gooseberry  fool."     Who  hungers  for  whitefish-stom- 
achs  or  liver  of  the  loche? 

Early  in  the  morning  we  start  north  in  the  Primrose, 
cross  Athabasca  Lake,  and  enter  the  Rocher  River.  Thirty 
miles  from  Fort  Chipewyan  the  Rocher,  uniting  with  the 
main  channel  of  the  Peace,  makes  a  resultant  stream  known 
as  the  Slave,  down  which  we  pass  in  an  incomparable 


Smith's  Landing 

summer  day,  our  hearts  dancing  within  us  for  the  clear 
joy  of  living.  Poplars  and  willows  alternate  with  white 
spruce  (Pice a  canadensis)  fully  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet 
high  and  three  feet  in  diameter.  It  is  an  ideal  run, — this 
hundred  miles  between  Fort  Chipewyan  and  Smith's  Land- 
ing, and  we  make  it  in  twelve  hours. 

"How  did  Smith's  Landing  get  its  name?"  I  ask  the 

^ 


FOND  DU  LAC  TO  FORT  SMITH 

Primrose  Captain.  "Some  ould  fish  o'  the  Hudson's  Bay," 
from  the  tightly-bitten  black  pipe  leaves  one  wondering  if 
Lord  Strathcona  (Sir  Donald  Smith)  was  meant.  At 
Smith's  Landing  we  encounter  the  only  obstacle  to  steam- 
boat navigation  in  the  magnificent  stretch  of  sixteen  hun- 
dred miles  between  Fort  McMurray  and  the  Arctic  Ocean. 
Between  Smith's  Landing  and  Fort  Smith  the  Slave  River 
presents  sixteen  miles  of  churning  rapids  with  a  total  drop 
of  two  hundred  and  forty  feet.  Until  within  a  few  years 
every  ounce  of  freight  for  the  lower  Mackenzie  River  posts 
had  to  negotiate  this  turbulent  waterway,  making  seven 
portages  and  many  decharges.  The  "free  trader"  still 
takes  his  scows  down  this  Rapid  of  the  Damned,  but  the 
H.  B.  Company  (thanks  be!)  has  provided  a  cross-country 
portage. 

We  land  on  the  heels  of  a  tragedy.  Some  days  before, 
in  this  surging  swirl  of  waters  two  priests  pushed  out  in  a 
canoe.  The  older  man  had  been  in  the  North  for  years  and 
was  "going  out,"  the  other  had  come  from  Europe  to  take 
his  place;  the  Father  would  show  to  his  successor  all  the 
beauties  of  the  rapids.  In  their  enthusiasm  they  ventured 
too  near  the  "Rapid  of  the  Drowned/'  and  canoe  and  men 
went  down.  An  old  Indian  woman,  the  only  eye-witness, 
said  to  me,  "One  arm  lifted  out  of  the  river,  the  paddle 
pointing  to  the  sky — a  cry  came  over  the  water,  and  that 
was  all."  Our  thought  jumps  to  that  peasant's  home 
in  far  France  where  the  mother  waits  and  wearies  for  news 
from  America.  We  see  the  unsteady  fingers  tearing  open 
the  first  letter  that  comes  out  of  that  remote  land  where 
devotion  and  duty  had  called  her  son.  We  wonder  who 
wrote  that  letter  to  her,  and,  turning  away,  wonder  too  at 

139 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

the  destiny  which  suddenly  breaks  off  the  thread  of  lives 
like  these  and  leaves  dotards  dozing  in  the  sun. 

At  Smith's  Landing  we  join  our  Athabasca  friends  and 
meet  new  ones,  among  the  latter  Mr.  Max  Hamilton,  who 
will  tell  you  more  of  the  North  and  its  little  ways  in  a 
forenoon  than  you  could  glean  from  books  in  a  winter's 
study.  Corporal  Mellor  and  Constables  Johnson  and 
Bates,  R.  N.  W.  M.  P.,  no  longer  gay  birds  of  travel,  have 
gotten  down  to  brass  tacks.  With  gay  visions  of  striding 
blooded  mounts,  herding  bison,  and  making  history,  they 
find  themselves  employed  at  present  in  making  a  barracks, 
making  it  out  of  logs  and  sweat  with  the  lonely  ox  as 
coadjutor.  Johnson,  who  has  broken  horses  in  the  ring 
at  Regina,  is  head  of  a  wagon  transport  and  tries  to  get 
speed  and  form  from  Wall-Eye  Buck,  an  ox  that  came  in 
with  the  Klondike  rush  and  hasn't  rushed  since.  Johnson 
holds  the  ribbons  well  and  bows  acknowledgment  when 
we  find  a  prototype  for  him  in  Mulvaney,  the  tamer  of 
elephants.  He  can  afford  to  take  our  banter  good  natur- 
edly,  for  he  knows  what  lies  before  us  on  the  Mosquito 
Portage  and  we  do  not. 

We  thought  we  had  met  mosquitoes  on  the  Athabasca. 
The  Athabasca  mosquito  is  gentle,  ineffective,  compared 
with  his  cousin  of  Smith's  Portage.  Dr.  Sussex  sits  on 
the  wagon-seat  behind  and  explains  the  mosquito.  He 
tells  us  that  they  are  "of  the  order  Diptera,"  "sub-order 
Nemocera,"  and  chiefly  "of  the  family  Culicidce,"  and  he 
also  goes  so  far  as  to  tell  us  that  they  "annoy  man."  As 
we  bump  along  in  the  muskeg  and  the  creatures  surround 
us  in  a  smother,  he  ventures  to  assert  that  "the  life  of  the 
adult  insect  is  very  short"  and  that  it  is  the  female  who 

140 


FOND  DU  LAC  TO  FORT  SMITH 

stings.  The  Doctor  is  a  born  instructor.  We  learn  that 
"the  natural  food  of  the  mosquito  is  a  drop  or  two  of  the 
juice  of  a  plant."  We  suspect  the  Doctor  of  fagging  up 
on  "Mosquito"  out  of  some  convent  dictionary  while  we 
have  been  at  Fond  du  Lac.  He  is  like  the  parson  intro- 
duced by  his  friend  of  the  cloth.  "Brother  Jones  will  now 
give  an  address  on  Satan.  I  bespeak  for  him  your  cour- 
teous attention,  as  the  reverend  gentleman  has  been  pre- 
paring this  address  for  weeks,  and  comes  to  you  full  of  his 
subject." 

The  adult  mosquito  may  have  a  short  life,  but  it  is  a 
life  crammed  full  of  interest;  if  the  natural  food  of  the 
mosquito  is  the  sweet  juice  of  a  pretty  flower  then  a  lot 
of  them  in  this  latitude  are  imperilling  their  digestion  on 
an  unnatural  commissariat.  And  if  the  female  mosquitoes 
do  all  the  fine  work,  there  is  a  great  scarcity  of  male  mos- 
quitoes on  Smith's  portage,  and  once  more  in  the  North 
the  suffragette  comes  into  her  own.  We  fear  that  these 
mosquitoes  are  like  the  Indians  of  whom  a  Slave  River 
priest  had  said  to  us,  "These  have  not  delicate  sensibil- 
ities such  as  gratitude  and  affection,  but  they  have  a  proper 
appreciation  of  material  things." 

Opposition  is  the  life  of  trade.  For  every  vantage-point 
as  big  as  a  match-head  on  our  face  and  hands  the  "bull- 
dog" contests  with  the  mosquito.  An  interesting  study 
is  the  "bull-dog."  He  looks  like  a  cross  between  a  blue- 
bottle fly  and  a  bumble  bee,  and  we  took  leisure  as  we 
went  along  to  examine  the  different  parts  of  his  person 
under  a  microscope  that  some  one  carried  as  a  watch- 
charm.  The  head  of  the  insect  (if  he  is  an  insect)  looks 
exactly  like  that  of  a  lull-dog,  he  makes  his  perforation 

141 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

with  a  five-bladed  lancet,  and  he  is  good  workman  enough 
to  keep  his  tools  always  well  sharpened.  The  Doctor  was 
not  "long"  on  the  "bull-dog."  He  told  us  that  his  Sunday 
name  was  "Tab anus"  and  that  was  about  all  he  could 
impart.  The  rest  we  could  learn  for  ourselves  by  direct 
contact. 

Personally  I  have  very  little  rancour  against  the  "bull- 
dog." He  looks  worse  than  he  is,  and  an  adversary  armed 
with  hands  can  easily  repel  him.  Four-legged  brutes  find 
it  different.  On  the  Bloody  Portage  we  overtook  five 
teams  of  oxen  which  had  been  more  than  twelve  hours 
trying  to  make  sixteen  miles  and  were  bleeding  profusely 
from  the  fly-bites.  Finally  two  of  them  succumbed  and 
a  relief  team  had  to  be  sent  out  from  Fort  Smith.  Moose 
in  the  North,  maddened  by  the  "bull-dogs,"  often  jump  over 
precipices  and  river-banks,  as  the  Scriptural  swine  did 
when  they  were  possessed  of  devils. 

Johnny-Come-Lately  from  dear  old  Lunnon  reading  in 
a  Western  paper,  "The  deer  are  chased  into  the  water  by 
the  bull-dogs,"  ruminates  audibly,  "Chase  the  de-ah  into 
the  wa-tah  with  bull-dogs!  How  interesting!  Jolly  re- 
sourceful beggars,  these  Colonials."  A  literary  scientist 
sending  out  copy  from  the  North  wrote,  "My  two  greatest 
troubles  are  mosquitoes  and  bull-dogs,"  which  the  intel- 
ligent proof-reader  amended  into,  "My  two  greatest  trou- 
bles are  mosquitoes  and  bull-frogs." 

Bringing  in  our  daily  treasure-trove  of  flowers  we  can 
scarcely  realise  that  at  Fort  Smith  we  are  in  lati- 
tude 60°  North,  the  northern  boundary  of  the  Province 
of  Alberta  and  in  the  same  latitude  as  St.  Petersburg. 
One  day  we  gathered  careopsis,  pretty  painted-cups,  the 

142 


FOND  DU  LAC  TO  FORT  SMITH 

dandelion  in  seed,  shinleaf  (Pyrola  elliptlca) ,  our  old  friend 
yarrow,  and  golden-rod.  Another  day  brought  to  the 
blotting-pads  great  bunches  of  goldenrod,  a  pink  anemone, 
harebells  of  a  more  delicate  blue  than  we  had  ever  seen 
before,  the  flower  of  the  wolf-berry,  fireweed,  and  ladies'- 
tresses.  The  third  day  we  identified  the  bear-berry  or  kin- 
nikinic-tobacco  (Arctostaphylos  uva-ursi)  with  its  astrin- 


A  Transport  between  Fort  Smith  and   Smith's  Landing 

gent  leaves,  and  that  dear  friend  of  lower  latitudes  and  far- 
away days,  the  pink  lady-slipper.  The  last  time  we  had 
seen  it  was  in  a  school-room  in  far-off  Vancouver  Island 
where  in  early  April  the  children  had  brought  it  in,  droop- 
ing in  their  hot  little  fists.  This  same  evening,  watching 
a  night-hawk  careering  in  mid-air  by  the  rapids  of  the 
Slave  and  enjoying  its  easy  grace  in  twisting  and  doubling 
as  with  hoarse  cry  it  fell  and  rose  again,  we  were  fortunate 
in  literally  running  to  ground  its  nest. 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Fort  Smith,  as  places  go  in  this  country,  is  an  infant  in 
age,  having  been  established  only  thirty-four  years.  Rest- 
ing on  the  edge  of  the  high  bank  of  the  Slave,  it  enjoys 


Lord  Strathcona,  Governor  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company 

an  eternal  outlook  on  those  wonderful  rapids.  The  river 
here  is  a  mile  wide.  The  sweep  and  eddy-wash  of  ages 
have  cut  out  a  deep  bay,  on  the  inner  shore  of  which  stand 
the  buildings  of  The  Company,  the  little  Roman  Church, 
the  houses  of  the  priests.  Back  of  the  permanent  struc- 

144 


FOND  DU  LAC  TO  FORT  SMITH 

tures  rise,  this  glorious  July  day,  the  tepees  of  the  Chipew- 
yans,  Slavis,  and  Dog-Ribs  who  have  come  in  from  the 
hunting-grounds  for  their  treaty  money.  Fort  Smith 
struck  us  as  being  more  "dead"  than  any  northern  post. 
But  it  is  on  the  verge  of  great  things.  Mr.  Brabant  has 
announced  that  this  place  is  to  succeed  Fort  Simpson  as 
headquarters  for  the  Northern  fur-trade,  and  his  person- 
ality will  soon  send  unction  into  the  dry  bones  of  the  valley. 

At  the  foot  of  the  high  hill  looms  a  monument  to  the 
initiative  and  commercial  enterprise  of  the  H.  B.  Com- 
pany,— a  modern  steamship  in  the  waters  of  a  wilderness- 
country.  Ours  is  to  be  the  honor  of  making  in  her  the 
initial  journey  to  the  Mackenzie  mouth.  It  is  impossible 
coming  from  the  South  to  navigate  the  Slave  River  rapids 
by  steam.  Any  boat  ambitious  to  ply  on  the  waters  lying 
northward  between  Fort  Smith  and  the  Arctic  must  be 
either  taken  in  in  sections  or  built  on  the  ground.  With 
enterprise  and  pluck,  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  has  just 
completed  the  construction  at  Fort  Smith  of  the  steamship, 
The  Mackenzie  River.  Its  great  boilers  and  engines  made 
in  far  factories  of  the  south  came  in  over  the  Athabasca 
trail  on  sleighs  in  winter.  Down  that  whole  distance  of 
ninety  miles  of  Athabascan  rapids  they  floated  on  scows 
as  we  floated,  and  while  human  ingenuity  is  bringing  north 
the  iron  bowels,  skilful  hands  out  of  native  timber  are 
framing  the  staunch  body  to  receive  them. 

The  builders  of  the  big  boat  have  had  disasters  which 
would  have  daunted  any  but  the  dogged  Company  of  Fur- 
Traders.  Two  land-slides  threatened  to  slice  off  and  carry 
into  the  river  the  partially-made  boat,  a  fire  burned  up  the 
blacksmith  shop  and  with  it  all  the  imported  doors,  win- 

145 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

dow-sashes  and  interior  finishings,  so  that  she  sails  to- 
morrow with  carpenters  still  at  work.  While  the  hull  of 
this  carefully  modelled  vessel  is  necessarily  of  light  con- 
struction, with  special  steel  to  enable  her  to  navigate  safely 
the  waters  of  the  Mackenzie  River,  longitudinal  strength 
has  been  adequately  provided  in  the  form  of  five  lattice  gir- 
ders and  by  numerous  hog-posts  and  ties,  and  the  diagonal 
bracing  of  the  bulkheads  will  provide  ample  transverse 
strength.  The  bow  also  has  been  made  especially  strong 
to  resist  the  impact  of  ice,  snags,  etc.  The  hull  is  one 
hundred  and  twenty-five  feet  in  length,  twenty-six  feet 
broad  at  the  water-line,  and  five  and  one-third  feet  deep  to 
the  structural  deck.  The  strength  and  safety  of  the  hull 
are  increased  by  five  water-tight  compartments.  Propul- 
sion is  effected  by  a  pair  of  modern  stern  paddle-wheel 
engines  capable  of  being  worked  up  to  over  two  hundred 
and  fifty  horse  power,  giving  her  a  speed  of  ten  miles  an 
hour.  She  has  stateroom  accommodation  for  twenty-two 
passengers,  draws  three  and  a  half  feet  of  water  aft,  and 
eats  up  half  a  cord  of  wood  an  hour.  She  will  carry  to 
the  northern  posts  their  trading-goods  for  the  year. 

Within  a  day's  ride  of  Fort  Smith  grazes  a  herd  of  four 
to  five  hundred  wood  bison,  the  last  unconfined  herd  of 
buffalo  in  the  world.  Doubtless  the  wood  buffalo  were 
originally  buffalo  of  the  plains.  Their  wandering  north- 
ward from  the  scoured  and  hunted  prairies  has  not  only 
saved  them  from  extinction  but  has  developed  in  them 
resistance  and  robust  vitality.  These  bison  appear  darker 
and  larger  than  their  pictured  cousins  of  the  past.  Prob- 
ably the  inner  hair  of  these  is  finer  and  of  thicker  texture, 
a  difference  which  the  change  of  habitat  to  more  northern 

146 


FOND  DU  LAC  TO  FORT  SMITH 

latitudes  would  easily  account  for.  The  bison  have  two 
enemies:  the  grey  wolf  and  the  Indian,  one  an  enemy 
in  esse,  the  other  in  posse.  The  Government  of  Canada 
has  prohibited  the  killing  of  the  buffalo,  and  my  opinion 
is  that  this  law,  as  all  other  Canadian  laws,  is  obeyed  in 
the  North.  I  questioned  every  one  I  talked  with  who 
lives  on  the  rim  of  the  buffalo-habitat,  and  the  concensus 
of  testimony  of  priests,  H.  B.  men,  settlers,  traders,  and 
Mounted  Police,  is  that  the  Indians  do  not  molest  these 
animals.  The  arch-enemy  of  the  wood  buffalo  is  the  tim- 
ber wolf. 


The  World's  Last   Buffalo 

Evidently  the  beautiful  thick  coat  of  the  woodland  bisons 
allows  them  to  laugh  at  the  mosquito,  for  we  come  upon 
them  in  an  almost  impenetrable  mosquito-infested  musKeg. 
An  untoward  frost  is  more  to  be  feared  by  these  great 
brutes  than  the  attacks  of  any  insect.  Thirty-eight  years 
ago  a  heavy  rainfall  in  the  winter  soaked  the  snow  and 
formed  a  subsequent  ice-crust  which  prevented  them  from 
grazing,  and  as  they  do  not  browse  on  the  branches  of  trees, 
the  herd  was  almost  exterminated.  In  the  past,  they  have 
been  abundant  throughout  sections  of  this  North  country. 
In  the  beginning  of  the  last  century,  the  upper  Peace  River 

H7 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

and  as  far  north  as  the  Liard  was  stocked  with  them.  As 
the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  never  traded  in  these  skins  for 
export,  the  Indians  hunted  them  for  food  only,  Fort  Chip- 
ewyan  being  regularly  supplied  by  its  fort  hunters  with 
buffalo  for  its  winter  use  up  to  the  year  1885. 

In  sections  of  the  wooded  country  of  the  north  the  bison 
in  times  past  were  as  plentiful  as  on  the  southern  plains. 
During  Sir  John  Franklin's  first  journey,  his  people  near 
where  the  Athabasca  River  enters  the  lake  "observed  the 
traces  of  herds  of  buffalo  where  they  had  crossed  the  river, 
the  trees  being  trodden  down  and  strewed  as  if  by  a  whirl- 
wind." In  1871,  two  travellers  making  a  portage  to  Hay 
River  near  its  entrance  into  Great  Slave  Lake  saw  countless 
numbers  of  buffalo  skulls  piled  on  the  ground  two  or  three 
feet  deep.  The  terrible  loss  of  life  indicated  by  these  bones 
they  attributed  to  a  fourteen-foot  fall  of  snow  which  oc- 
curred in  the  winter  of  1820  and  enveloped  the  travelling 
animals. 

One  cannot  but  be  intensely  interested  in  the  preservation 
of  this  herd  of  wood  bison  making  here  their  last  stand. 
The  Canadian  Government  has  shown  a  splendid  spirit  in 
its  attitude  toward  every  phase  of  the  buffalo  question,  as 
its  purchase  of  the  Pablo  herd  from  Montana  now  en- 
sconced in  the  new  Buffalo  Park  near  Wainwright,  in 
Alberta,  as  well  as  the  measures  for  preserving  these 
northern  brands  from  the  burning,  conclusively  prove. 

Upon  my  chatting  with  Chief  Pierre  Squirrel,  and  ad- 
miring largely  his  magenta  mosquito-veil,  the  astute  chap 
tells  me  that  he  himself,  back  of  Fort  Smith  a  few  years 
ago,  saw  a  full-grown  buffalo  pulled  down  and  the  flesh 
literally  torn  off  it  by  woodland  wolves,  strong  brutes,  he 

148 


FOND  DU  LAC  TO  FORT  SMITH 

assured  me,  which  weighed  from  one  hundred  and  fifty  to 
two  hundred  pounds  each.  A  wolf  shot  on  the  Mackenzie 
last  year  measured  from  snout  to  the  root  of  the  tail  sixty- 
four  inches.  The  Dominion  bounty  on  the  timber-wolf  is 
twenty  dollars,  but  this  is  not  an  off-set  to  the  native's 
superstitious  aversion  to  killing  this  animal;  the  Indian's 
belief  is  that  such  slaughter  on  his  part  queers  his  hunt 
for  a  whole  season.  He  never  goes  out  with  malice  afore- 
thought on  a  wolf-hunt,  but  if  one  of  these  animals  crosses 
his  track  he  may  kill  it,  although  always  with  inward 
foreboding.  A  man  brought  in  a  wolf  to  Fort  Smith  while 
we  were  there  and  throwing  down  his  hunting  gear  said, 
"There,  it  had  better  all  be  destroyed,  I  will  have  no  luck 
with  it  more."  Shortly  afterwards  a  fish-staging  fell  on 
his  son,  for  which  the  dead  wolf  was  held  responsible.  As 
the  female  wolf  has  from  three  to  five  young  at  a  litter 
and  as  the  mother  buffalo  gives  birth  to  but  one  calf,  Fate, 
in  both  birth-rate  and  death-rate,  would  seem  to  favour  the 
smaller  animal.  It  is  up  to  the  red-coated  lads  of  the 
river-edge  to  appear  in  the  drama  as  gods-from-the-ma- 
chine.  While  one's  sympathy  is  with  the  shaggy  bison 
host,  still  one  cannot  withhold  admiration  for  the  grit  and 
tenacity  of  the  wolf.  Archbishop  Tache  tells  of  the  per- 
severing fortitude  of  a  big  wolf  caught  years  ago  in  a 
steel  trap  at  Isle  a  la  Crosse.  Thirty  days  afterwards, 
near  Green  Lake,  a  hundred  miles  away,  it  was  killed, 
with  trap  and  wood  block  still  fixed  to  a  hind  leg.  The 
poor  brute  through  the  intense  cold  of  a  Northern  winter 
had  dragged  this  burden  all  those  weary  miles. 

With  Fort  Smith  as  a  centre,  there  remains  an  unmarred 
fur-preserve  and  a  race  of  hardy  trappers.     Is  the  fur- 

149 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

trade  diminishing?  Statistics  are  extremely  difficult  to 
get,  dealers  do  not  publish  dividend-sheets,  the  stockhold- 
ers of  the  Mother-Lodge  of  the  H.  B.  Company  do  not 
advertise.  There  is  no  import  duty  on  raw  skins  into  the 
United  States,  and  so  no  means  of  keeping  tally  on  the 
large  shipments  of  fur  which  yearly  find  their  way  south 
from  Canada.  The  statistics  which  are  available  overlap. 
Raw  furs  making  out  by  Montreal  to  Europe  come  back, 
many  of  them,  as  manufactured  imports  into  this  continent 
by  way  of  New  York.  Canada  in  1904  sent  to  her  Ameri- 
can cousins  furs  and  skins  and  manufactures  of  the  same 
to  the  value  of  $670,472.  This  year  the  export  has  been 
more  than  doubled;  the  exact  figures  are  $1,531,912.  In 
1908,  Canada  sent  to  France  $110,184  worth  of  raw  and 
manufactured  fur,  to  Germany  $23,173  worth,  and  to  Bel- 
gium $19,090  worth. 

More  money  goes  to  the  trapper  to-day  for  such  common 
skins  as  red-fox  and  skunk  and  muskrat  than  was  ever  paid 
to  the  fur-hunter  for  beaver,  seal,  and  sea-otter  in  the  old 
days.  Six  million  dollars  worth  of  raw  furs  are  sold  an- 
nually by  auction  in  London,  and  Canada  is  the  Mother 
Country's  chief  feeder.  Included  in  these  London  sales 
are  some  hundred  thousand  martens,  or  Hudson  Bay 
sables,  and  probably  four  times  that  number  of  mink.  The 
imports  of  raw  furs  and  exports  of  the  manufactured  arti- 
cle cross  each  other  so  perplexingly  that  to-day  the  wearer 
of  fur  clothing  has  no  way  of  finding  out  in  what  part  of 
the  world  her  stole  or  cap  or  jacket  had  origin.  On  the 
feet  of  the  sacrificed  animal,  by  snowshoe  of  trapper  and 
scow  of  the  trader,  it  may  have  travelled  half  round  the 
world  before,  in  the  shop-window,  it  tempted  her  taste  and 


FOND  DU  LAC  TO  FORT  SMITH 

pocket-book.  Furs  will  be  always  fashionable;  the  poet 
of  old  who  declared,  'Til  rob  no  ermyn  of  his  dainty  skin 
to  make  mine  own  grow  proud,"  would  find  scanty  follow- 
ing among  the  women  of  fashion  in  this  age. 

In  some  parts  of  the  United  States  an  ingenious  by-in- 
dustry to  the  fur-trade  has  arisen,  for  the  offered-bounty 
destructive  animals  are  carefully  reared  in  illicit  kinder- 
gartens. As  some  states  pay  for  the  scalps  of  these  ani- 
mal pests  and  other  states  for  the  tails,  the  undertaking 
is  interesting  and  profitable.  The  only  gamble  is  in  the 
nursery.  When  the  gladsome  breeder  gets  his  wild-cat 
or  coyote  big  enough  to  market,  it  is  "heads  I  win,  tails 
you  lose."  The  United  States,  in  twenty-five  years,  has 
paid  two  and  a  half  millions  in  wild  animal  bounties.  Cal- 
ifornia paid  in  a  year  and  a  half  $190,000  on  coyotes  alone, 
and  no  breed  of  noxious  animals  is  yet  extinct. 

What  is  true  of  the  undesirable  animals  fortunately  is 
true  also  of  the  harmless  fur-bearers.  Several  causes 
make  against  the  extermination  of  these  in  Canada.  The 
range  is  so  wide  that,  harassed  in  one  quarter,  the  animal 
may  get  his  family  around  him  and  make  tracks  for  safer 
pastures.  Hunted  in  the  winter  only,  he  has  a  good  six 
months  of  planning  and  putting  into  practice  plans  of 
preservation  as  against  the  six  months  of  active  warfare 
when  the  trapper's  wits  are  pitted  against  his.  The  fickle- 
ness of  Fashion's  foibles,  too,  in  his  favour.  In  no  line 
of  personal  adornment  is  there  such  changing  fashion  as 
in  furs.  A  fur  popular  this  season  and  last  will  next 
spring  be  unsaleable  at  half  its  original  value,  and  some 
despised  fur  comes  to  the  front. 

What  causes  the  changed  standard?     Who  shall  say? 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

World's  Fairs,  in  showing  perfect  specimens,  popularise 
particular  skins.  Some  princess  of  the  blood  or  of  bullion 
wears  mink  at  a  regal  or  republican  function,  and  the  trick 
is  turned.  The  trade-ticker  on  mink  runs  skyward  and  a 
wireless  thrill  of  warning  should  by  poetic  justice  be  im- 
pelled here  to  the  shores  of  the  Slave  where  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Mink  and  all  the  little  minxes  love  and  hate  and  eat  and 
sleep  (with  one  eye  open).  During  the  last  five  years 
furs  have  been  increasingly  fashionable,  and  to  this  end 
no  one  cause  has  contributed  so  strongly  as  the  automo- 
bile. The  exhilarating  motion  makes  necessary  clothing 
of  compact  texture.  This  truth  is  self-evident  and  does 
not  require  the  involved  chain  of  reasoning  by  which  a 
friend  over  our  milkless  teacups  last  night  strove  to  prove 
that  by  all  laws  of  the  game  the  auto  makes  milk  cheap. 

The  burden  of  his  demonstration  is  this.  Autos  have 
largely  done  away  with  the  keeping  of  horses  for  pleas- 
ures. Horses  and  horse-stables  inevitably  breed  flies. 
Flies  in  summer  worry  cows,  and  they,  to  escape  the  an- 
noyance, stand  for  hours  in  running  streams  and  do  not 
graze.  For  lack  of  food,  the  milk-supply  yielded  by  the 
cow  is  scanty,  and  milk  rises  in  price.  The  auto  upsets 
all  this,  and,  undeterred  by  the  horse-bred  fly,  complacent 
cows  crop  grass  and  distend  their  udders  with  cheap  and 
grateful  milk.  Now,  the  reasoning  is  plain  and  incon- 
trovertible at  any  one  point,  and  yet  urban  milk  grows 
dearer  and  Northern  travellers  drink  boiled  tea  au  natural. 
Cows  are  the  eternal  feminine  and  will  not  be  explained  by 
logic. 

But  we  are  in  the  latitude  of  the  fox  and  not  the  cow. 
Should  the  most  valuable  fox  that  runs  be  called  a  black- 

152 


FOND  DU  LAC  TO  FORT  SMITH 

fox,  or  a  silver-fox?  What  is  the  highest  price  ever  paid 
for  a  fox-skin?  Do  not  try  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  these 
two  innocent-looking  demands.  That  way  madness  lies. 
"How  old  is  Ann?"  pales  before  this.  Canadian  foxes 
present  themselves  patriotically  in  red,  white,  and  blue,  and 
there  are  also  black  foxes  and  silver  ones.  The  black-fox 
is  only  less  elusive  than  the  black  tulip  or  the  blue  rose, 
and  yet  he  inhabits  the  same  section  and  cohabits  often 
the  same  burrow  with  the  red  and  the  cross-fox.  By  the 
way,  a  cross-fox  is  not  a  hybrid;  he  bears  the  sign  of  the 
cross  on  his  shoulders,  and  so  his  name.  The  red-fox  of 
America  is  not  dissimilar  to  the  red-fox  of  Europe,  and 
yet  a  red-fox  in  Canada  may  have  a  silver-fox  for  its 
mother  and  itself  give  birth  to  a  silver-cub.  At  the  Mis- 
sion at  Isle  a  la  Crosse  in  latitude  55°  30',  about  twenty 
years  ago,  an  experiment  was  made  in  breeding  black- 
foxes.  The  missionary-Burbanks  got  two  black-fox  pups, 
male  and  female,  and  mated  these  when  they  were  mature. 
From  them  always  came  mixed  litters  of  red-fox,  cross- 
fox,  and  black  and  silver.  It  reminds  one  of  the  Black 
Prince  of  England,  who  was  son  of  a  King  and  father  of 
a  King,  yet  never  was  a  King! 

We  are  told  that  Messrs.  McDougall  &  Secord,  of  Ed- 
monton, enjoy  the  distinction  of  having  received  the  high- 
est price  for  a  silver-fox  pelt  ever  paid  on  the  London 
market, — $1700,  that  it  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
skins  seen  in  the  history  of  the  trade,  and  that  it  went  to  the 
Paris  Exposition.  Official  Russian  records  at  St.  Peters- 
burg state,  "Of  the  American  silver-fox  (Canis  vulpes  ar- 
gentatus)  black  skins  have  a  ready  market  at  from  $1500  to 
$4000.  They  are  used  for  Court  robes  and  by  the  nobles." 
12  153 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

And  so  the  stories  go  on.  A  dealer  in  Calgary  told  us 
that  last  winter  he  had  handled  a  silver-fox  skin  that  subse- 
quently brought  $1950  in  the  London  market.  One  quotes 
these  tales  blithely  and  with  pleased  finality.  Then  arises 


Tracking  a  Scow  across  Mountain  Portage 

from  some  unsuspected  quarter  the  voice  of  one  cavilling 
in  the  wilderness,  who  contradicts  your  every  story  and 
finds  with  keen  discriminating  sight,  "Black's  not  so  black 
nor  white  so  very  white."  Mr.  Thompson-Seton  makes 

154 


FOND  DU  LAC  TO  FORT  SMITH 

declaration,  "The  silver-fox  is  but  a  phase  or  freak  of  a 
common-fox,  exactly  as  a  black  sheep  is,  but  with  a  differ- 
ence— !"  Yes,  there's  that  fatal  and  fascinating  differ- 
ence. As  we  must  have  salmon-hatcheries,  so  Nature 
demands  intelligent  fox-farms,  and  beaver-farms,  and 
skunk-farms.  Forty  acres  under  fur  promises  greater  in- 
terest than  even  forty-bushel  wheat,  and,  to  the  imagina- 
tive, the  way  opens  up  for  the  development  of  a  new  Cat-o- 
Dog  or  Dog-o-Cat,  Goatee-rabbiticus  or  Rabbito-goat. 

I  would  not  like  to  vouch  for  the  story  told  on  the  mos- 
quito-portage by  the  half-breed  driver,  who  declared  that 
last  year  a  red-fox  on  the  Slave  stole  a  decoy  duck  and 
hunted  with  it  for  three  seasons  at  the  river-lip,  placing 
it  among  the  sedges  and  pouncing  on  the  lured  game.  He 
was  a  serious-minded  saturnine  Scots-Slavi  and  told  the 
story  without  moving  an  eye-brow. 

At  Fort  Smith  we  enjoyed  a  close  study  of  the  American 
White  Pelican  (Pelecanus  erythrorhynchos)  which  in  the 
Mountain  Rapids  of  the  Slave  finds  its  farthest  north  nest- 
ing-place. It,  too,  has  the  saving  grace  of  continuance 
exhibited  by  the  grey  wolf.  Mackenzie,  a  century  ago, 
came  across  the  birds  here,  and  they  have  persisted  ever 
since,  although  in  the  direct  line  of  the  river-transit  of  the 
fur-traders.  A  wooded  island  in  the  swirl  of  the  rapids  is 
their  wild  breeding-place,  and  while  we  were  there  the 
young  birds  were  very  much  in  evidence.  We  found  some- 
thing fascinating  about  this  bird,  so  famed  in  song  and 
story.  The  plumage  is  white,  relieved  with  rose  and  yel- 
low. The  pelican  nests  are  slight  depressions  in  the  sand, 
some  of  them  softened  with  an  algoid  matting.  The  eggs 
are  white,  rough-shelled,  and  equal-ended,  with,  so  far  as 

155 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

we  could  see,  only  one  to  three  in  a  nest.  One  by  one  the 
illusions  of  childhood  vanish.  Some  wretched  historian 
proves  without  shadow  of  doubt  that  Sir  John  Moore  at 
Corunna  met  decent  daylight  sepulture  and  was  not  "darkly 
buried  at  dead  of  night,  the  sod  with  our  bayonets  turn- 
ing." There  arises  one  Ferrero  who  demonstrates  with 
conclusive  exactness  that  Antony  was  attracted  by  Cleo- 
patra's money  and  his  breast  was  not  stirred  by  the  divine 
passion.  A  French  scientist  robs  Benjamin  Franklin  of 
the  kudos  of  his  lightning-rod.  I  myself  on  Vancouver 
Island  have  happened  to  be  in  at  the  death  of  two  swans, 
and  neither  gurgled  a  musical  note  but  yielded  the  ghost 
in  dignified  silence.  And  now  candour  compels  me  to 
report  that  the  Slave  River  pelican  feeds  her  nestlings  on 
prosaic  fish  without  the  slightest  attempt  to  "open  to  her 
young  her  tender  breast."  It  is  rank  libel  for  Byron  to 
state 

"Her  beak  unlocks  her  bosom's  stream 
To  still  her  famished  nestling's  scream." 

And,  when  Keats  states  so  sententiously  in  Rndymion,  "We 
are  nurtured  like  a  pelican  brood,"  he  merely  calls  the 
world  at  large,  fish-eaters. 


CHAPTER  IX 

SLAVE  RIVER  AND  GREAT  SLAVE  LAKE 

"Wild   for  the  hunter's  roving,  and  the  use 
Of  trappers  in  its  dark  and  trackless  vales, 
Wild  with  the  trampling  of  the  giant  moose, 
And  the  weird  magic  of  old  Indian  tales." 

— Archibald  Lamp  man. 

A  double  cabin  is  assigned  us  on  The  Mackenzie  River 
and  the  nightmare  that  haunted  us  on  the  scows  of  wet 
negatives  and  spoiled  films  vanishes.  On  Tuesday,  July 
7th,  the  new  steamer  takes  the  water.  Although,  as  we 
have  said,  we  are  in  the  latitude  of  St.  Petersburg,  still 
twelve  hundred  miles  in  an  almost  due  northwest  direction 
stretches  between  us  and  that  far  point  where  the  Mac- 
kenzie disembogues  into  the  Polar  Ocean.  The  Union 
Jack  dips  and  all  Fort  Smith  is  on  the  bank  to  see  us  off. 
On  the  Fourth  of  July  we  had  improvised  a  program  of 
sports  for  the  Dog-Rib  and  Slavi  boys,  introducing  them 
to  the  fascinations  of  sack-races,  hop-step-and-jump,  and 
the  three-legged  race.  The  thing  had  taken  so  that  the 
fathers  came  out  and  participated,  and,  surreptitiously  be- 
hind the  tepees,  the  mothers  began  to  hop.  Having  no 
popcorn,  fizz,  or  Coney-Island  red-hots  to  distribute,  we 
did  the  next  best  thing, — became  barkers  and  gave  the 
calls  that  go  with  festivities.  So  now,  as  the  boat  swings 
out  from  the  soft  bank,  it  is  a  gay  company  of  urchins  who 
wave  their  caps  and  yell,  "R-r-r-red  lemol-lade,  everybody 
drinks  it!" 

157 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

There  is  only  one  Fort  Smith!  Established  for  three 
decades,  it  has  as  yet  seen  no  wells  dug.  The  people  still 
climb  that  steep  bank,  carrying  in  pendant  buckets  from 
wooden  shoulder-yokes  water  for  the  daily  drinking  and 
ablutions.  At  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  should  you 
visit  Fort  Smith  forty  years  from  now,  you  will  see  the 


The    "  Red    Lemol-lade  "    Boys 

same  daily  procession  of  women  and  kiddies  bearing  buck- 
ets,— the  Aquarius  sign  of  the  Fort  Smith  zodiac.  A  scof- 
fer at  my  elbow  grins,  "Why  should  they  bother  to  dig 
wells  ?  It's  cheaper  to  bring  out  Orkney-men  in  sail-boats 
from  Scotland  to  tote  their  water  up  the  banks." 

At  noon  we  reach  the  Salt  River,  twenty-two  miles  up, 
which  is  one  of  the  most  marvellous  salt  deposits  in  the 

158 


SLAVE  RIVER  AND  GREAT  SLAVE  LAKE 

world.  The  Salt  River  winds  in  crescent  curves  through 
a  valley  wooded  with  aspen  and  spruce,  and  the  Salt  Plains 
six  miles  in  extent  stretch  at  the  base  of  hills  six  or  seven 
hundred  feet  high.  The  salt  lies  all  over  the  ground  in 
beautiful  cubes, — pure  crystal  salt.  It  is  anybody's  salt 
plain ;  you  can  come  here  when  you  will  and  scoop  up  all 
you  want.  These  plains  have  supplied  the  North  country 
with  salt  since  first  white  men  penetrated  the  country.  At 


Salt  Beds 

the  mouth  of  the  Salt  River  are  the  shacks  of  the  present 
representatives  of  the  Beaulieus, — a  family  which  has  acted 
as  guides  for  all  the  great  men  who  ever  trended  north- 
ward. They  have  been  interesting  characters  always,  and 
as  we  look  in  upon  them  to-day  neither  Beaulieu  nor  salt 
has  lost  his  savour. 

The  Slave  River  from  where  it  leaves  Fort  Smith  to  its 
embouchure  in  Great  Slave  Lake  is  about  two  hundred 
miles  long,  with  an  average  width  of  half  a  mile,  except 
where  it  expands  in  its  course  to  enclose  islands.  The  big 
boat  behaves  beautifully  in  the  water,  and  on  we  slip  with 
no  excitement  until  about  five  o'clock,  when  a  moose  and 

159 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

her  calf  are  espied,  well  out  of  range.  Each  in  his  narrow 
cell,  we  sleep  the  sleep  of  the  just  and  wake  to  find  our- 
selves tied  to  the  bank.  The  captain  fears  a  storm  is 
brooding  on  Great  Slave  Lake;  so,  tethered  at  the  marge 
of  the  reedy  lagoon,  we  wait  all  the  forenoon.  A  corner 
of  Great  Slave  Lake  has  to  be  traversed  in  order  to  reach 
Fort  Resolution. 

To  Samuel  Hearne,  the  Mungo  Park  of  Canada,  belongs 
the  double  honour  of  tracing  the  Coppermine  River  and  dis- 
covering Great  Slave  Lake.  Just  one  hundred  and  thirty- 
seven  years  ago  on  Christmas  Eve,  Hearne  got  his  first 
glimpse  of  this  magnificent  inland  sea  which  is  cut  through 
the  centre  by  the  parallel  of  62°,  and  which  lies  east  and 
west  between  the  meridians  of  109°  and  117°.  No  survey 
of  Great  Slave  Lake  has  been  made,  but  it  is  estimated  to 
have  a  superficial  area  of  10,500  square  miles — just  one- 
third  the  size  of  troubled  Ireland,  and  as  great  as  Delaware, 
Connecticut,  and  Rhode  Island  combined. 

Great  Slave  Lake,  lying  wholly  within  the  forested  re- 
gion, is  three  hundred  miles  long,  and  its  width  at  one  point 
exceeds  sixty  miles.  At  every  place  on  its  banks  where 
the  fur-traders  have  their  stations  ordinary  farm-crops 
are  grown.  Barley  sown  at  Fort  Resolution  in  mid-May 
reaches  maturity  in  a  hundred  days ;  potatoes  planted  at  the 
same  time  are  dug  in  mid-September.  The  gardens  of 
Fort  Rae  on  the  North  Arm  of  the  Lake  produce  beets, 
peas,  cabbages,  onions,  carrots,  and  turnips.  As  Fort  Rae 
is  built  on  a  rocky  island  with  a  bleak  exposure,  this  would 
seem  to  promise  in  some  future  day  generous  harvests  for 
the  more  favoured  lands  on  the  south  and  west. 

The  names  given  by  the  old  fur-traders  to  their  posts 

1 60 


SLAVE  RIVER  AND  GREAT  SLAVE  LAKE 

make  the  traveller  think  that  in  these  North  lands  he,  a  sec- 
ond Christian,  is  essaying  a  new  Pilgrim's  Progress.  At 
the  south  entry  to  the  Lake  we  are  at  Resolution ;  when  we 
cross  it  we  arrive  at  Providence;  away  off  at  the  eastern 
extremity  is  Reliance;  Confidence  takes  us  to  Great  Bear 
Lake ;  and  Good  Hope  stretches  far  ahead  down  the  lower 
reaches  of  the  Mackenzie.  Fort  Resolution  on  the  south 


Unloading   at   Fort   Resolution 

side  of  Great  Slave  Lake,  a  little  west  of  the  mouth  of 
the  Slave,  lies  back  of  an  island-sheltered  entrance. 

The  striking  feature  as  we  enter  is  an  immense  Roman 
Catholic  Mission  school  in  process  of  construction,  to  sup- 
plement the  existing  church  and  school  of  that  faith. 
There  is  neither  station  of  the  Mounted  Police  nor  Church 
of  England  here ;  their  places  are  taken  by  two  independent 
fur-trading  concerns  operating  in  opposition  to  the  Ancient 
Company. 

161 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

We  had  been  told  that  the  children  down  North  had  the 
kiddies  at  Fort  Smith  and  Chipewyan  "all  skinned"  for 
politeness,  and  we  find  it  even  so.  The  good  nuns  are 
trying  to  make  reputable  citizens  of  the  young  scions  of 
the  Dog-Rib  and  Yellow-Knife  nations  and  are  succeeding 
admirably  as  far  as  surface  indications  go.  We  ap- 
proach a  group  of  smiling  boys  arrayed  in  their  Sunday 
clothes,  awaiting  a  visit  of  the  Bishop.  With  one  accord 
come  off  their  Glengarry  bonnets,  smoking  caps,  and 
Christie  stiffs,  and  a  row  of  brown  hands  is  extended  to 
greet  us.  Very  trim  the  laddies  look  in  their  convent- 
made  cadet-uniforms,  as,  standing  at  "'Shun!"  they  an- 
swered our  every  question  with,  "Yes,  missus,"  "No, 
missus."  When  we  ask  their  names,  without  tittering  or 
looking  silly  they  render  up  the  whole  list  of  saintly  cog- 
nomens. Here  they  have  once  more  their  white  brothers 
"skinned" ;  no  civilised  man,  woman,  or  child  ever  stood  up 
in  public  and  announced  his  full  baptismal  name  in  an 
audible  tone  without  feeling  a  fool.  I  have  seen  grizzled 
judges  from  the  bench,  when  called  upon  to  give  evidence 
as  witnesses,  squirm  like  schoolboys  in  acknowledging  that 
their  godfathers  had  dubbed  them  "Archer  Martin"  or 
"Peter  Secord"  or  whatever  it  might  be. 

It  is  certainly  Old  Worldish.  We  speak  with  Father 
Laity  who,  all  unconscious  of  the  commotion  around  him, 
marches  up  and  down  the  trail  and  reads  his  breviary. 
He  tells  us  he  is  a  Breton  and  that  in  an  age  that  is  past 
he  served  as  a  drummer-boy  in  the  Prussian  war.  The 
Father  came  to  this  shut-in  land  forty-one  years  ago. 

Great  Slave  Lake,  which  presents  a  formidable  barrier 
to  the  passage  of  the  smaller  land  birds,  is  a  breeding  sta- 

162 


SLAVE  RIVER  AND  GREAT  SLAVE  LAKE 

tion  of  the  sea-swallow.  The  Arctic  tern  hatches  on  its 
shores,  laying  its  eggs  in  the  beach  gravel.  The  bird,  with 
its  slender  body,  deeply-forked  tail,  and  shrilly-querulous 
voice,  is  everywhere  in  evidence.  Does  the  whole  family 
of  lake  birds  show  any  more  exquisite  colour-scheme  than 
the  pearly  plumage,  small  coral  feet,  carmine  bill,  and  black 
cap  of  this  tern?  In  a  dell  carpeted  with  silverweed  and 
wild  mustard,  we  come  across  a  nest  of  our  persisting 
friend,  the  chipping  sparrow.  Afterward  we  wander 
down  to  the  shore  and  make  the  acquaintance  of  Pilot 
Julien  Passepartout,  whose  calling  as  Mackenzie  River 
navigator  allows  him  to  live  out  the  largeness  of  his  title, 
though  I  like  best  to  think  of  him  by  the  cradle-name  his 
mother  gave  him,  Tenny  Gouley,  which  means  "A  man 
born." 

Down  at  the  Treaty  tent,  Dog-Rib  and  Yellow-Knife 
are  being  handed  the  five  one  dollar  bills  which  remind  each 
that  he  is  a  loyal  subject  of  His  Imperial  Majesty  Edward 
the  Seventh.  The  Yellow-Knives  were  so  named  by  Mac- 
kenzie far  back  in  1789  when  he  first  saw  them  and  their 
weapons  of  native  copper.  Each  head  of  a  family  is  issued 
an  identification-ticket  which  he  presents  and  has  punched 
from  year  to  year.  A  father  "draws  treaty"  for  his  olive- 
skinned  branches  until  each  marries  and  erects  a  tepee  for 
himself.  Government  Agent  Conroy,  big  bodied  and  big 
hearted,  sits  on  a  nail-keg,  represents  the  King,  and  gives 
out  largesse;  and  Mr.  Laird  presides  over  the  Doomsday 
book.  Inside  the  tent  we  take  up  a  sheltered  position  and 
watch  the  fun.  There  are  marked  zones  of  names  as  well 
as  of  vegetation.  The  Fiddler  Anns,  Waggon-box  Julias, 
and  Mrs.  Turkeylcgs  of  the  Plains  country  are  absent 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

here,  in  the  Land  of  the  Yellow-Knife,  where  neither  wag- 
gon-boxes nor  turkeys  flourish. 

Mary  Catholic  comes  along  hand-in-hand  with  Samuel 
the  Worm.     Full  of  animal  spirits  is  a  group  of  four— 
Antoine    Gullsmouth,     Tongue-of-t he-Jack  fish,     Baptist c 
Wolftail,   and   The   Cat's  Son.     A  little   chap   who   an- 
nounces himself  as  T'tum  turns  out  to  be  Petite  Hommc, 


Coming  to  "  Take  Treaty  "  on  Great  Slave  Lake 

the  squat  mate  of  The  Beloved.  It  would  be  interesting  to 
know  just  how  each  of  the  next  couple  acquired  his  name, 
for  neither  Trois-Pouces  and  Oivl-Plucked-Out-His-Eyc 
bears  evidence  of  abnormal  conditions.  On  a  whole  the 
names  are  more  striking  than  our  John  Smiths,  Richard 
Roes,  and  Tom  Browns,  as  for  instance  the  next  three— 
Le  Pcre  des  Carriboux,  Gerou.r  the  Eldest,  Alixi  To-rong- 

164 


SLAVE  RIVER  AND  GREAT  SLAVE  LAKE 

jo:  The-man-who-stands-still  is  evidently  a  stand-patter, 
while  one  wonders  if  it  would  be  right  to  call  The-Man- 
Who-Walks-With-The-Red-Hair,  a  Crimson  Rambler. 

Carry-the-Kettle  appears  with  Star  Blanket  and  The 
Mosquito,  and  the  next  man  in  line,  who  has  the  tongs 
from  a  bon-bon  box  stuck  in  the  band  of  his  hat,  rejoices 
in  the  name  of  Strike-PIim-on-the-Back,  which  somehow 
suggests  the  match-box  in  the  hotel  hall-way.  As  the  dig- 
nified father,  Having-Passed-Many-Birthdays,  claims  five 
dollars  each  for  his  four  daughters,  Smiling  Martin,  My- 
Wigivam-ls-White,  and  the  twins  Make-Daylight-Appear 
and  Red-Sky-of-the-Morning,  we  acknowledge  that  here 
again,  in  the  art  of  naming,  the  Yellow-Knife  has  his 
white  brother  "skinned." 

Birth,  dowry,  divorce,  death,  each  must  be  noted  on  the 
treaty  ticket,  with  a  corresponding  adjustment  of  the  num- 
ber of  dollar-bills  to  be  drawn  from  the  coffer.  If  a  man 
between  treaty-paying  and  treaty-paying  marries  a  widow 
with  a  family,  he  draws  five  dollars  each  for  the  new  people 
he  has  annexed.  If  there  is  an  exchange  of  wives  (a  not- 
infrequent  thing),  the  babies  have  to  be  newly  parcelled 
out.  Through  all  the  family  intricacies  Mr.  Conroy  fol- 
lows the  interpreter  with  infinite  patience  and  bonhomie. 
To  the  listener  it  sounds  startling  as  the  interpreter,  pre- 
senting two  tickets  says,  "He  married  these  three  people— 
this  fellow."  "O,  he  give  dat  baby  away  to  Charles." 
When  we  hear  in  a  dazed  way  that  "Mary  Catholic's  son 
married  his  dead  woman's  sister  who  was  the  widow  of 
Anton  Laruconi  and  the  mother  of  two  boys,"  we  take  a 
long  breath  and  murmur,  "If  the  angle  A  C  B  is  not  equal 
to  the  angle  ABC,  then  how  can  the  angle  D  E  F  be 

165 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

equal  to  the  angle  DEE?"  A  young  couple,  looking 
neither  of  them  more  than  sixteen  or  seventeen,  return 
with  a  shake  of  the  head  five  of  the  fifteen  dollars  proffered 
them,  and  the  interpreter  explains,  "Their  little  boy  died 
—there's  only  two  of  them." 

Gregory  Daniels  in  a  Scottish  voice,  which  cannot  quite 
hide  its  triumphant  ring,  pushes  back  his  five  dollars  and 
demands  forty-five.  "I  got  a  wife  and  siven  since  last 
year,  she's  a  Cree  wumman."  Another  half-breed  asks 
anxiously  if  he  would  be  allowed  to  send  for  a  "permit" 
like  a  white  man  if  he  refused  to  take  treaty. 

One  man  with  long  black  hair  and  a  cheese-cutter  cap 
creates  consternation  at  the  tent-door  by  claiming  treaty 
for  two  wives  and  seventeen  children.  Mr.  Conroy,  scent- 
ing an  attempt  to  stuff  the  ballot-box,  produces  seventeen 
matches,  lays  them  at  my  feet  on  the  tent-floor  and  asks 
The-Lcan-Man  to  name  them.  He  starts  in  all  right. 
We  hear,  "Long  Lodge,  Little  Pine,  Blue  Fish,  Birdtail, 
Little  Bone,  Siveet  Grass,  Ermine  Skin/'  and  then  in  a 
monotone  he  begins  over  again,  "Long  Lodge,  Little  Pine, 
Blue  Fish,"  and  finally  gives  it  up,  eagerly  asking  the  in- 
terpreter to  wait  "a-little-sun."  The  drama  of  paying  and 
recording  has  gone  on  for  half  an  hour  and  we  have  quite 
forgotten  T he-Lean-Man,  when  back  he  comes  with  Mrs. 
Lean-Man,  Sr.,  and  Mrs.  Lean-Man,  Jr.  Each  spouse 
leads  her  own  progeny.  Seeing  is  believing,  and  off  Lean- 
Man  goes  with  a  fat  wallet.  We  wander  into  the  stores 
to  see  what  purchases  the  Indians  will  make.  One  young 
blade  is  looking  at  a  box  of  stogies,  and  the  clerk  says,  "He 
can  afford  to  blow  in  his  wad  on  perfumes  and  cigars,  that 
chap,  he  got  a  silver-fox  last  winter."  They  tell  the  story 

1 66 


SLAVE  RIVER  AND  GREAT  SLAVE  LAKE 

of  how  old  Maurice,  Chief  of  the  Chipewyans,  put  his  first 
treaty  money  in  a  cassette  and  kept  it  there  all  the  year  be- 
cause he  had  heard  one  white  man  tell  another  that  money 
grows,  and  he  wanted  to  see  if  a  white  man  lies  when  he 
talks  to  another  white  man. 

Sometimes,  though,  the  Indian  scores  one  on  the  white. 
This  was  markedly  the  case  when  the  first  treaty  payments 
were  made  at  Lesser  Slave.  Two  young  Jews  had  fol- 
lowed the  treaty  party  all  the  way  in  from  Edmonton  with 
an  Old  Aunt  Sally  stand  where  you  throw  wooden  balls 
at  stuffed  figures  at  ten  shies  for  a  quarter.  "Every  time 
you  hit  'em,  you  get  a  see-gar !"  They  thought  they  were 
going  to  clear  out  the  Indians,  but  it  took  a  bunch  of  Lesser 
Slave  braves  just  an  hour  and  a  quarter  to  break  the  bank 
at  Monte  Carlo.  As  an  appreciative  onlooker  reported, 
"Them  chaps  pinked  them  dolls  every  time." 

As  we  leave  Resolution  in  the  evening  through  an  open 
door,  we  get  a  glimpse  of  a  woman  placing  her  hands  in 
blessing  on  a  boy's  head.  It  is  the  mother  of  one  of  our 
boatmen,  Baptiste  Bouvier,  or  "De-deed."  The  lad  in 
turn  puts  a  hand  on  each  of  his  mother's  shoulders  and 
kisses  her  gaily  on  both  cheeks,  grabs  the  camera,  and 
helps  us  down  the  bank.  The  whistle  toots  impatiently. 
We  both  turn  and  wave  our  hands  to  the  mother  at  the 
open  door. 

Travelling  all  night,  we  do  not  go  to  bed,  but  merely 
throw  ourselves  down  for  an  hour's  rest  about  midnight, 
for  we  must  not  lose  the  light  effects  on  this  great  silent 
lake.  As  the  captain  finds,  amid  shifting  sandbars,  a  fair- 
way for  his  vessel,  there  comes  offshore  the  subdued  night- 
noises  of  the  small  wild  things  that  populate  the  wilder- 

167 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

ness.  Here  a  heavy  tree,  its  footway  eaten  out  by  the 
lake-swirl  round  a  high  point,  slumps  into  the  water,  and 
joins  the  fleet  of  arboreal  derelicts.  The  raucous  voice  of 
a  night-fowl  cries  alarm.  Then  there  descends  over  all  a 


On   the   Slave 

measureless  silence.  At  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  we 
haul  into  the  Hay  River  Mission,  where  the  familiar  mos- 
quito-smudge greets  us  at  the  landing. 

This  was  by  far  the  most  attractive  English  Church 

1 68 


SLAVE  RIVER  AND  GREAT  SLAVE  LAKE 

Mission  in  the  whole  North — although  comparisons  are 
odorous  and  yet  illuminating.  All  Hay  River  had  been  up 
over  night,  anticipating  their  yearly  mail.  Red  girls  and 
boys  of  every  tribe  in  the  North  are  housed  in  this  Mission, 
learning  how  to  play  the  white  man's  game — jolly  and 
clean  little  bodies  they  are.  It  looks  like  Christmas  time. 
Parcels  are  being  done  up,  there  is  much  whispering  and 
running  to  and  fro,  and  the  sparkling  of  black  eyes. 
Would  you  like  to  see  the  letters  that  The  Teaser,  The 
Twin,  Johnny  Little  Hunter,  and  Mary  Blue  Quill  are 
sending  out  to  their  parents  ?  For  the  most  part  the  mis- 
sives consist  of  cakes  of  pink  scented  soap  tightly  wrapped 
round  with  cotton  cloth,  on  which  the  teachers  are  writing 
in  ink  the  syllabic  characters  that  stand  for  each  father's 
and  mother's  name.  The  soap  has  been  bought  with  the 
children's  pennies  earned  by  quill-work  and  wood-carving 
done  in  the  long  winter  nights.  The  parcels  will  be  passed 
from  one  trapper's  jerkin  to  another,  and  when,  months 
afterwards,  they  reach  their  destination  in  far  tepee  or 
lodge  of  the  deerskin,  Mrs.  Woman-of-the-Bright-Foam 
and  Mr.  Kee-noo-shay-o,  or  The  Fish,  will  know  their  boys 
and  girls  "still  remember." 

One  of  the  Hay  River  teachers  is  married  to  a  Chicagoan 
who  started  ten  years  ago  for  the  Klondike,  knew  when  he 
had  found  pure  gold,  ceased  his  quest  here,  and  lived  hap- 
pily ever  after.  Their  children  are  the  most  fascinating 
little  people  we  have  seen  for  many  months.  Life  is 
quaint  at  the  Hay  River  Mission.  The  impression  we 
carry  away  is  of  earnest  and  sweet-hearted  women  bring- 
ing mother-love  to  the  waifs  of  the  wilderness,  letting  their 
light  shine  where  few  there  are  to  see  it.  We  discover  the 
13  169 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

moccasin-flower  in  bloom,  see  old  Indian  women  bringing 
in  evergreen  boughs  for  their  summer  bedding — a  delight- 
ful Ostermoor  mattress  of  their  own  devising.  Dogs  cul- 
tivate potatoes  at  Hay  River  in  summer,  and  in  the  winter 
they  haul  hay.  The  hay  causes  our  enquiry,  and  we  learn 
that  this  Mission  boasts  one  old  ox,  deposited  here  no 
doubt  by  some  glacial  drift  of  the  long  ago.  And  thereby 
hangs  a  tale.  Charlie,  an  attache  of  the  school-force, 
drove  this  old  ox  afield  day  by  day.  As  man  and  beast  re- 
turned wearily  in  the  evening,  the  teachers  asked,  "Well, 


Dogs   Cultivating    Potatoes 

what  happened  to-day,  Charlie?"  "Bill  balked,"  was  the 
laconic  reply.  Tuesday's  question  would  bring  the  same 
response,  "Bill  balked."  And  "Bill  balked,"  on  Wednes- 
day. Thursday  it  is — "Bill  didn't  balk";  and  so  the  days 
divided  themselves  into  days  of  blueness  and  red-letter 
days. 

The  mean  July  temperature  at  Hay  River  is  60°  Fahren- 
heit, and  the  monthly  mean  for  January,  18°  below  zero. 
Vegetables  of  their  own  growing,  with  whitefish  from  the 
lake,  furnish  almost  the  entire  food  supply  of  this  thrifty 
Mission,  one  season's  harvest  giving  them  a  thousand 
bushels  of  potatoes,  fifteen  of  turnips,  and  five  each  of 

170 


SLAVE  RIVER  AND  GREAT  SLAVE  LAKE 

beets,  carrots,  and  parsnips,  with  two  hundred  cabbages 
and  over  ten  thousand  whitefish. 

Hay  River  has  never  been  explored.  It  is  supposed  to 
head  near  the  source  of  the  Nelson  and  to  flow  northeast 
for  three  hundred  miles  before  emptying,  as  we  see  it,  into 
Great  Slave  Lake.  This  river  marks  the  limit  of  those 
grassy  plains  which  extend  at  intervals  all  the  way  from 
Mexico  northward.  Bishop  Bompas,  years  ago,  descended 
a  long  stretch  of  the  river,  discovering  not  far  back  from 
where  we  stand  a  majestic  cataract,  which  he  named  the 
"Alexandra  Falls"  after  the  then  Princess  of  Wales.  He 
describes  it  as  a  perpendicular  fall  one  hundred  feet  high, 
five  hundred  feet  wide,  and  of  surpassing  beauty.  "The 
amber  colour  of  the  falling  water  gives  the  appearance  of 
golden  tresses  twined  with  pearls/' 

Crossing  Great  Slave  Lake,  we  think  of  Chant-la,  Chief 
of  the  Slavis  at  Hay  River.  Bishop  Reeves  was  anxious 
to  convert  him  to  the  Christian  faith,  but  had  great  diffi- 
culty in  giving  Chant-la  a  proper  conception  of  the  Trin- 
ity. The  old  man  would  not  say  he  believed  or  understood 
what  was  inexplicable  to  him.  Setting  out  once  on  a  long 
journey,  the  cleric  adjured  the  Chief  to  struggle  with  the 
problem  during  his  absence.  The  Bishop  returning, 
Chant-la  came  out  in  his  canoe  to  meet  him,  eagerly  report- 
ing that  all  now  was  clear.  "It  is  like  Great  Slave  Lake," 
said  the  old  man.  "It  is  all  water  now,  just  like  the 
Father.  When  winter  comes  it  will  be  frozen  over,  but 
Great  Slave  Lake  just  the  same ;  that  is  like  the  Son.  In 
the  spring  when  the  ice  breaks  and  the  rain  makes  the 
snow  into  slush,  it  is  still  Great  Slave  Lake;  and  that  is 
like  the  Holy  Ghost." 

171 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Beyond  Great  Slave  Lake,  forty-five  miles  down  the 
Mackenzie,  we  reach  Fort  Providence,  as  strongly  French 
in  its  atmosphere  as  Hay  River  is  British.  Our  coming  is 
a  gala  day.  The  hamlet  flies  three  flags,  the  free  trader 
sports  his  own  initials  "H.  N.,"  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany loyally  runs  the  Union  Jack  to  the  masthead,  over  the 
convent  floats  the  tri-colour  of  France.  Fort  Providence 
is  hot.  We  walk  to  the  convent  and  are  hospitably  re- 
ceived by  the  nuns.  They  call  their  Red  flock  together  for 
us  to  inspect  and  show  us  marvellous  handwork  of  silk  em- 
broidery on  white  deerskin.  The  daintiest  of  dainty  slip- 
pers calls  forth  the  question,  "Where  are  you  going  to 
find  the  Cinderella  for  these?"  A  blank  look  is  my  an- 
swer, for  no  one  in  Providence  Convent  has  ever  heard 
of  Cinderella!  But  then,  convents  are  not  supposed  to 
be  the  repositories  of  man-knowledge  (although  a  half- 
breed,  on  our  passage  across  the  lake,  did  whisper  a  ro- 
mantic story  of  a  Klondiker  who  assailed  this  very  fort- 
ress and  tried  to  carry  off  the  prettiest  nun  of  the  north). 
The  garden  of  the  Sisters  is  a  bower  of  all  the  old-fash- 
ioned flowers — hollyhocks,  wall-flower,  Canterbury  bells, 
and  sweet-William — and  down  in  the  corner  a  young  girl 
of  the  Dog-Ribs  discovers  to  us  a  nest  of  fledgling  chip- 
ping sparrows. 

As  we  landed  from  the  boat,  Tenny  Gouley  dressed  in 
his  Sunday  best  had  beamed,  "Nice  day — go  veesit." 
And  "veesit"  we  did.  Mrs.  Herron,  of  the  H.  B.  Com- 
pany, has  spent  many  years  at  Old  Fort  Rae,  and  her 
thoughts  hark  back  to  one  severe  winter  spent  there.  She 
turns  to  the  wife  of  our  good  Captain  with,  "Hard  living, 
Mrs.  Mills,  dry  suckers."  It  is  a  short  speech,  but  fraught 

172 


SLAVE  RIVER  AND  GREAT  SLAVE  LAKE 

with  meaning.  I  honestly  think  a  dry  sucker  (well 
sanded)  the  least  succulent  of  all  the  impossible  fish- 
dishes  of  the  North.  There  are  many  young  Herrons  all 
as  neat  as  new  pins,  the  last — no,  the  latest,  enshrined  in 
a  moss-bag.  Tradition  tells  that  once,  when  they  were 
fewer  in  number,  the  father  took  the  flock  out  to  Winnipeg 
to  school.  The  children  cried  so  at  the  parting  that  Mr. 


David   Villeneuve 


Herron  turned  and  brought  them  all  back  with  him  to  the 
Mackenzie ! 

The  most  interesting  man  in  all  Fort  Providence  is 
David  Villeneuve,  one  of  the  Company's  Old  Guard.  He 
was  anxious  to  be  "tooken"  with  his  wife  and  grandchild, 
and  over  the  camera  we  chatted.  David  goes  through 
life  on  one  leg — fishes  through  the  ice  in  winter,  traps, 
mends  nets,  drives  dogs,  and  does  it  all  with  the  dexterity 

173 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

and  cheerfulness  of  a  young  strong  man.  He  tells  of  his 
accident.  "I  was  young  fellow,  me,  when  a  fish-stage  fell 
on  me.  I  didn't  pay  no  notice  to  my  leg  until  it  began  to 
go  bad,  den  I  take  it  to  the  English  Church  to  Bishop  Bom- 
pas.  He  tole  me  de  leg  must  come  off,  an'  ax  me  to  get 
a  letter  from  de  priest  (I'm  Cat-o-lic,  me)  telling  it  was  all 
right  to  cut  him.  I  get  de  letter  and  bring  my  leg  to 
Bompas.  He  cut  'im  off  wid  meat-saw.  No,  I  tak' 
not'in',  me.  I  chew  tobacco  and  tak'  one  big  drink  of 
Pain-killer.  Yas,  it  hurt  wen  he  strike  de  marrow." 
"Heavens!  Didn't  you  faint  with  the  awful  pain?" 
"What?  Faint,  me?  No.  I  say,  'Get  me  my  fire-bag, 
I  want  to  have  a  smok'.'  " 


CHAPTER  X 

PROVIDENCE  TO  SIMPSON,  ONE  HUNDRED  AND  FIFTY   MILES 
DOWN  THE  MACKENZIE 

"Never  the   Spirit  was  born:   the   Spirit   shall  cease  to  be  never. 

Never  was  time,  it  was  not ;  end  and  beginning  are  dreams. 
Birthless  and  deathless  and  changeless  remaineth  the  Spirit, 

Death  hath  not  touched  it  at  all,  though  dead  the  house  of  it 

seems." 

We  have  just  finished  supper  and  are  sitting  reading  on 
the  upper  deck  about  seven  o'clock,  when  a  cry  comes  from 
below,  followed  by  the  rushing  back  and  forth  of  moc- 
casined  feet.  In  a  flash  Bunny  Langford,  one  of  the  en- 
gineers, has  grabbed  a  lifebuoy,  runs  past  us  to  the  stern, 
and  throws  it  well  out  toward  a  floating  figure. 

It  is  De-deed,  De-deed  who  had  smilingly  helped  us 
aboard  at  Resolution  just  twenty-four  hours  before.  Fin- 
ishing his  turn  at  stoking,  he  had  gone  to  draw  a  bucket 
of  water,  leaned  over  too  far,  and  fallen,  carrying  the  hatch 
with  him.  At  first  we  think  nothing  of  the  incident,  as 
he  is  a  good  swimmer  and  the  current  is  with  him.  As 
soon  as  the  startled  people  realise  what  has  happened 
the  steamer's  engines  are  reversed  and  a  boat  is  lowered. 
We  call  out  to  De-deed  to  swim  to  the  buoy,  but  he  doesn't 
see  it  or  doesn't  understand.  The  black  head  gets  smaller 
in  the  distance ;  it  disappears,  and  comes  up  again.  Down 
it  goes  for  the  second  time.  A  strange,  constricted  feeling 
comes  into  our  throats  as  we  cry  out,  "Swim,  De-deed,  the 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

boat  is  coming !  They  are  almost  up  to  you !"  The  boat, 
pulling  hard  against  the  current,  seems  but  a  dozen  yards 
away.  Will  he  hold  up  ?  As  we  look,  the  head  sinks,  and 
it  does  not  come  up.  Within  a  few  feet  of  buoy  and  boat, 
the  body  of  De-deed  disappears  for  the  last  time.  We 
search  for  an  hour  or  more  with  grappling  irons,  but  he  is 
never  seen  again.  A  strange  silence  settles  down  above 
and  below  deck,  and  all  night  long  two  faces  flit  before 
us — the  grave  face  of  the  mother  calling  down  blessings 
on  her  boy,  the  rallying  smile  of  De-deed  bidding  her  good- 
by  and  telling  her  all  is  well.  It  is  a  brave  and  happy 
spirit  which,  in  the  "Little  Lake"  of  the  Mackenzie,  goes 
out  with  the  current. 

The  Mackenzie  River,  "La  Grande  Riviere  en  Bas," 
as  the  people  of  Resolution  call  it,  on  whose  waters  we 
are  now  fairly  embarked,  is  the  greatest  water-way  in  the 
British  Empire,  and  of  earth's  great  rivers  the  one  least 
traversed  by  man.  Counting  back  from  the  headwaters  of 
either  its  more  northerly  tributary  the  Peace  or  its  south- 
ern feeder  the  Athabasca,  the  length  of  the  river  is  three 
thousand  miles.  At  Little  Lake,  where  it  issues  out  of 
Great  Slave  Lake,  the  Mackenzie  is  eight  miles  wide,  and 
its  delta  a  thousand  miles  below  here  has  an  expansion  of 
fifty  miles.  The  average  width  of  the  stream,  as  we 
traverse  it  from  source  to  mouth,  is  a  mile  and  a  half, 
widening  out  often  in  its  sweep  to  two  and  a  half  to  three 
miles. 

From  Little  Lake  the  current  is  somewhat  sluggish,  the 
river  bank  seldom  exceeding  one  hundred  feet  in  height 
until  we  reach  what  is  known  as  "The  Head  of  the  Line." 
Before  the  advent  of  steam  on  the  Mackenzie,  when  the 


PROVIDENCE  TO  SIMPSON 

patient  voyager  made  his  way  up  south  from  the  ocean,  it 
was  at  this  point  that  the  tracking-line  was  exchanged  for 
oars.  The  plains  bordering  the  river  here  are  forested 
with  white  spruce  and  broken  with  muskeg  and  lakes. 
The  statistician  on  board  works  out  that  the  volume  of 
water  the  Mackenzie  carries  to  the  sea  is  half  a  million 
feet  a  second.  No  one  is  wise  enough  to  challenge  his 
calculation,  and  we  merely  hazard  a  wonder  if  this  most 
magnificent  water-power  will  ever  be  used  for  commercial 
and  economic  purposes.  There  is  surely  enough  "white 
coal"  rushing  by  us  to  turn  the  wheels  of  the  factories  of  a 
continent.  The  Mackenzie  is  the  only  river  whose  basin 
is  cut  by  a  thousand  mile  range.  The  sources  of  the 
Peace  and  the  Liard  lie  on  the  west  side  of  the  Rockies, 
from  where  these  giant  feeders  bring  their  tribute  to  the 
main  river  through  passes  in  that  range. 

At  intervals  all  the  way  down  the  river  to  Fort  Simp- 
son we  are  treated  on  our  right  hand  to  views  of  the  Horn 
Mountains,  which  slope  away  on  their  north  side  but  show 
a  steep  face  to  the  south.  Along  our  course  the  bluish 
Devonian  shales  are  capped  by  yellow  boulder-clay. 

We  awaken  on  Friday,  July  loth,  to  find  ourselves  at 
Rabbitskin  River  and  everybody  busy  carrying  on  wood 
for  fuel.  By  ten  o'clock  we  are  at  Fort  Simpson  in  lat- 
itude 62°,  the  old  metropolis  of  the  North.  Fort  Simpson 
is  built  on  an  island  where  the  Liard  River  joins  the  Mac- 
kenzie, the  river  being  a  mile  and  a  half  wide  at  this  point. 
The  foundation  of  the  fort  dates  back  to  the  beginning  of 
the  nineteenth  century,  when  it  was  known  in  fur  annals 
as  "The  Forks  of  the  Mackenzie." 

Simpson  is  essentially  a  has-been.  We  look  upon  the 

177 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

warehouses  of  its  quadrangle  with  their  slanting  walls  and 
dipping  moss-covered  roofs  and  try  to  conjure  up  the 
time  long  past  when  all  was  smart  and  imposing.  In 
those  days  when  the  Indians  brought  in  their  precious 
peltries  they  were  received  and  sent  out  again  with  military 
precision  and  all  that  goes  with  red  tape  and  gold  braid. 
Surely  the  musty  archives  of  Simpson  hold  stories  well 
worth  the  reading!  We  would  fain  linger  and  dream  in 


Hudson's    Bay   House,    Fort    Simpson 

front  of  this  sun-dial  across  whose  dulled  face  the  suns 
of  twenty  lustrums  have  cast  their  shadows,  but  we  be- 
grudge every  moment  not  spent  in  fossicking  round  the 
old  buildings.  We  seek  for  threads  which  shall  unite  this 
mid-summer  day  to  all  the  days  of  glamour  that  are  gone. 
In  a  rambling  building,  forming  the  back  of  a  hollow 
square,  we  come  across  the  mouldy  remains  of  a  once 
splendid  museum  of  natural  history,  the  life  work  of  one 
Captain  Bell  of  the  Old  Company.  It  gives  us  a  sorry 


PROVIDENCE  TO  SIMPSON 

feeling  to  look  at  these  specimens,  now  dropping  their 
glass  eyes  and  exposing  their  cotton-batting  vitals  to  the 
careless  on-looker,  while  the  skeleton  ribs  of  that  canoe 
with  which  Dr.  Richardson  made  history  so  long  ago  add 
their  share  to  the  general  desolation.  In  a  journal  of  the 
vintage  of  1842  we  read  an  appeal  for  natural  history  ex- 
hibits sent  to  Fort  Simpson  by  an  official  of  the  British 
Museum.  He  writes,- 

"I  may  observe  that  in  addition  to  the  specimens  asked  for,  any 
mice,  bats,  shrew-mice,  moles,  lizards,  snakes  or  other  small  quadru- 
peds or  reptiles  would  be  acceptable.  They  may  either  be  skinned 
or  placed  in  rum  or  strong  spirits  of  any  kind,  a  cut  being  first 
made  in  the  side  of  the  body  to  admit  the  spirits  to  the  intestines." 

Of  all  the  rare  humour  disclosed  in  the  old  records,  this 
entry  most  tickles  my  fancy. 

I  think  of  the  little  group  that  we  had  forgathered  with 
at  Chipewyan,  driven  even  in  this  year  of  grace  to  laven- 
der-water and  red  ink,  when  permits  run  dry.  One  turns 
back  the  clock  to  the  time  of  the  Chartists  and  the  year  of 
the  nuptials  of  the  young  Queen  in  England.  We  see  up 
here  on  the  fringe  of  things  the  dour  and  canny  but  ex- 
ceedingly humorous  Adam  McBeaths,  John  Lee  Lewises, 
and  George  Simpsons,  the  outer  vedette  of  the  British 
Empire;  and,  seeing  them,  get  some  half-way  adequate 
conception  of  what  a  modicum  of  rum  or  "strong  spirits 
of  any  kind"  meant  in  the  way  of  cheer  at  old  Fort  Simp- 
son in  those  days.  When  we  try  to  get  a  picture  of  one 
of  these  Hudson's  Bay  men  gravely  opening  a  shrew- 
mouse,  mole,  or  "other  small  quadruped,"  while  his  chum 
pours  in  the  aqua  vitae  or  precious  conversation  water, 
we  declare  that  science  asks  too  much. 

179 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

An  outer  stairway  leading  to  the  second  story  of  a 
big  building  invites  us.  Opening  the  door,  we  find  our- 
selves in  the  midst  of  an  old  library,  and  moth  and  rust, 
too,  here  corrupt.  We  close  the  door  softly  behind  us  and 
try  to  realise  what  it  meant  to  bring  a  library  from  Eng- 
land to  Fort  Simpson  a  generation  ago.  First,  there 
arose  the  desire  in  the  mind  of  some  man  for  something 
beyond  dried  meat  and  bales  of  fur.  He  had  to  persuade 
the  authorities  in  England  to  send  out  the  books. 
Leather-covered  books  cost  something  six  or  seven  decades 
ago,  and  the  London  shareholders  liked  better  to  get 
money  than  to  spend  it.  We  see  the  precious  volumes 
finally  coming  across  the  Atlantic  in  wooden  sailing-ships 
to  Hudson  Bay,  follow  them  on  the  long  portages,  watch 
them  shoot  rapids  and  make  journeys  by  winter  dog-sled, 
to  reach  Simpson  at  last  on  the  backs  of  men.  The  old 
journals  reveal  stories  of  the  discussion  evoked  by  the 
reading  of  these  books  afterward  as,  along  with  the  dried 
fish,  deer-meat,  and  other  inter-fort  courtesies,  they  passed 
from  post  to  post.  Was  never  a  circulating  library  like 
this  one.  And  now  the  old  books,  broken-backed  and  dis- 
embowelled, lie  under  foot,  and  none  so  poor  to  do  them 
reverence.  Everything  is  so  old  in  this  North  that  there 
is  no  veneration  for  old  things. 

It  is  but  a  few  years  since  the  founder  of  this  library 
died,  and  his  son  now  sits  in  his  saddle  at  Fort  Simpson. 
If  you  were  to  wander  across  the  court,  as  I  did  to-day, 
and  look  into  the  Sales  Shop,  you  would  see  the  presen- 
tation sword  of  this  last-generation  Carnegie  ignobly 
slicing  bacon  for  an  Indian  customer.  Sic  transit  gloria 
mundi! 

180 


PROVIDENCE  TO  SIMPSON 

What  are  the  books  which  this  sub-Arctic  library  sent 
out?  We  get  down  on  the  floor  and  gently  touch  the  his- 
toric old  things.  Isn't  it  Johnson  who  says,  "I  love  to 
browse  in  a  library"?  Judging  by  the  dust  and  cobwebs, 
there  hasn't  been  much  browsing  done  among  these  vol- 
umes for  years.  Present-day  Simpson  has  seldom  "fed 
on  the  dainties  that  are  bred  in  a  book."  Here  is  a  first 
edition  of  The  Spectator,  and  next  it  a  Life  of  Garrick, 
with  copies  of  Virgil,  and  all  Voltaire  and  Corneille  in  the 
original.  A  set  of  Shakespeare  with  exquisite  line  draw- 
ings by  Howard  shows  signs  of  hard  reading,  and  so  does 
the  Apology  for  the  Life  of  Mr.  Colly  Gibber.  One  won- 
ders how  a  man  embedded  in  Fort  Simpson,  as  a  fly  in 
amber,  would  ever  think  of  sending  to  the  Grand  Pays  for 
Burton's  Anatomy  of  Melancholy,  yet  we  find  it  here, 
cheek  by  jowl  with  The  Philosophy  of  Living  or  the  Way 
to  Enjoy  Life  and  Its  Comforts.  The  Annual  Register  of 
History,  Politics,  and  Literature  of  the  Year  1764  looks 
plummy,  but  we  have  to  forego  it.  The  lengthy  titles  of 
the  books  of  this  vintage,  as  for  instance,  Death-Bed 
Triumphs  of  Eminent  Christians,  Exemplifying  the 
Poiver  of  Religion  in  a  Dying  Hour,  bring  to  mind  the 
small  boy's  definition  of  porridge — "fillin',  but  not  satis- 
fyin'."  Two  more  little  books  with  big  titles  are  Actors' 
Budget  of  Wit  and  Merriment,  Consisting  of  Monologues, 
Prologues  and  Epilogues,  and  The  London  Prisons,  with 
an  Account  of  the  More  Distinguished  Persons  Who 
Have  Been  Confined  in  Them. 

But  the  book  that  most  tempts  our  cupidity  is  Memoirs 
of  Miss  A—  —n,  Who  Was  Educated  For  a  Nun,  with 
Many  Interesting  Particulars.  We  want  that  book,  we 

181 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

want  to  take  it  on  with  us  and  read  it  when  we  reach  the 
Land  of  the  Eskimo,  where  the  Mackenzie  slips  into  the 
Arctic  by  all  its  silver  mouths.  We  lift  the  volume  up. 
and  put  it  down  again,  and  we  hunger  to  steal  it.  Jekyll 
struggles  with  Hyde.  At  last  the  Shorter  Catechism  and 
the  Westminster  Confession  of  Faith  triumph;  we  put  it 
down  and  softly  close  the  door  behind  us.  And  ever  since 
we  have  regretted  our  Presbyterian  training. 

At  Fort  Simpson,  it  is  like  walking  across  a  churchyard 
or  through  an  old  cathedral.  Here  men  lived  and  wrought 
and  hoped,  cut  off  from  their  kind,  and  did  it  all  with  no 
thought  of  being  heroic.  We  walk  along  the  shore  to 
watch  Indian  women  busied  in  making  a  birchbark  canoe 
and  in  washing  clothes  with  washboards — the  old  order 
and  the  new.  A  little  dive  into  the  mosquito-ridden 
woods  discloses  a  wonderful  patch  of  Pyrola  and  a  nest  of 
Traills'  flycatcher,  and  makes  us  wish  that  the  minutes 
were  longer  and  the  mosquitoes  fewer.  What  a  beautiful 
thing  this  Pyrola  is,  with  its  inverted  anthers  and  the  cob- 
webby margins  of  its  capsule !  Its  bracted,  nodding  flow- 
ers run  through  all  shades  of  white,  pale  yellow,  and  dark 
yellow. 

Down  on  the  beach  we  chat  with  a  prospector  and  his 
son,  a  lad  of  fifteen,  who  are  building  a  skiff  in  which  to 
ascend  the  Liard,  hunting  gold.  Yesterday  a  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Carl  and  a  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hall  passed  us  on  the  river. 
Outfitted  for  two  years,  they  will  prospect  for  gold  in  the 
Nahanni  Mountains  and  toward  the  headwaters  of  the 
Liard.  One  of  the  couples  has  just  come  out  from  Glas- 
gow and  this  is  their  honeymoon.  We  half  envy  them 
their  journey.  Can  anything  compare  with  the  dear  de- 

182 


PROVIDENCE  TO  SIMPSON 

lights  of  travelling  when  you  do  not  know  and  nobody 
knows  just  what  lies  round  the  next  corner? 

The  dogs  at  Simpson  are  "wicked."  Picking  our  way 
among  them,  I  particularly  approve  this  term  of  the 
natives,  attributing  as  it  does  a  human  conception  and 


A   Slavi   Family  at   Fort   Simpson 

malice  aforethought  to  these  long-legged  wraiths.  The 
first  articulate  sound  an  Indian  child  of  the  Mackenzie 
learns  to  make  is  "Mash!"  an  evident  corruption  of  the 
French  "Marche"  This  is  what  Shakespeare  meant 
when  he  speaks  of  "a  word  to  throw  at  a  dog."  A  brown 
baby  just  emerged  from  the  cocoon  stage  of  the  moss-bag 
toddles  with  uplifted  pole  into  a  bunch  of  these  hungry 

183 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

mongrels  and  disperses  them  with  a  whack  of  the  stick  and 
the  lordly  "Mash!"  of  the  superior  animal.  For  our  own 
part  we  are  "scared  stiff,"  but  follov  along  in  the  wake  of 


A  Slavi  Type  from  Fort  Simpson 

our  infant  protector  to  a  wee  wooden  church  which  stag- 
gers under  the  official  title,  "The  Cathedral  of  St.  David." 
We  have  had  occasion  to  speak  of  the  splendid  service 
rendered  to  Northern  and  Western  Canada  by  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  Company  and  by  the  Royal  Northwest  Mounted 

184 


PROVIDENCE  TO  SIMPSON 

Police.  A  third  factor  through  the  years  has  been  build- 
ing Empire  with  these.  Are  we  not  as  a  people  too  prone 
to  minimise  the  great  nation-building  work  performed  by 
the  scattered  missionaries  in  the  lone  lands  beyond  the 
railway  ?  Ostensibly  engaged  in  the  work  of  saving  souls, 
Canadian  missionaries,  both  Roman  and  English,  have 
opened  the  gates  of  commerce,  prosecuted  geographical 
discovery,  tried  to  correct  social  evils,  and  added  materi- 
ally to  our  store  of  exact  science.  Through  their  in- 
fluence, orphanages  have  been  founded,  schools  estab- 
lished, and  hospitals  opened.  Creeds  take  a  secondary 
place  to  deeds  in  this  land,  and  when  you  discuss  a  man,  be 
he  cleric  or  layman,  the  last  thing  you  ask  is,  "To  what 
church  does  he  belong?"  Incidentally,  it  does  seem  rather 
odd  that  with  Scottish  blood  running  through  the  veins 
of  nine-tenths  of  the  people  of  this  North  as  yet  no  Pres- 
byterian missionary  has  penetrated  beyond  the  latitude  of 
Edmonton.  The  great  Churches  of  England  and  Rome, 
north  of  the  Athabasca,  divide  the  field  between  them. 

The  records  of  -the  whole  missionary  world  show  no 
more  striking  figure  than  that  of  Bishop  Bompas  of  the 
Anglican  Church.  We  have  already  had  two  glimpses 
of  this  young  Cockney  curate;  once,  hoisting  his  home- 
made Union  Jack  on  the  ox-cart  at  St.  Cloud,  and,  again, 
passing  north  as  the  wild-fowl  flew  south  in  October,  1865, 
chronicled  by  the  Chipewyan  scribe  merely  as  "a  Protes- 
tant missionary  coming  in  a  canoe  from  the  Portage." 
In  the  forty  years  of  missionary  life  which  intervened  be- 
tween his  coming  into  the  North  and  his  death  in  the 
Yukon  just  two  years  ago,  only  twice  did  the  Bishop 
emerge  from  these  Northern  fastnesses.  It  is  literal  truth 
u  185 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

to  state  that  no  one  on  any  part  of  the  world's  map  has  ever 
made  so  many  long  and  toilsome  journeys  as  did  this  man. 
With  his  sheep  scattered  over  a  country  a  million  square 
miles  in  extent,  we  might  compare  a  parochial  visit  of  this 
parson  to  a  barge-journey  from  London  to  Constanti- 
nople, replacing  the  European  capitals  by  Hudson's  Bay 
forts,  and  substituting  for  Europe's  vineyards  and  pleas- 
ant vales  an  unbroken  line  of  jack-pine  and  muskeg. 

We  are  told  that  Bishop  Bompas's  father  was  Dicken's 
prototype  for  Sergeant  Buzfuz.  A  new  vista  would  open 
up  to  the  counsel  for  Mrs.  Bardell  could  he  turn  from  his 
chops  and  tomato-sauce  to  follow  the  forty-years'  wander- 
ing in  the  wilderness  of  this  splendid  man  of  God,  who  suc- 
ceeded, if  ever  man  succeeds,  in  following  Paul's  advice 
of  keeping  his  body  under. 

Bishops  Bompas  was  one  of  the  greatest  linguists  the 
Mother  Country  ever  produced.  Steeped  in  Hebrew  and 
the  classics  when  he  entered  the  Northland,  he  immedi- 
ately set  himself  to  studying  the  various  native  languages, 
becoming  thoroughly  master  of  the  Slavi,  Beaver,  Dog- 
Rib,  and  Tukudk  dialects.  When  Mrs.  Bompas  sent  him 
a  Syriac  testament  and  lexicon,  he  threw  himself  with 
characteristic  energy  into  the  study  of  that  tongue.  There 
is  something  in  the  picture  of  this  devoted  man  writing 
Gospels  in  Slavi,  primers  in  Dog-Rib,  and  a  Prayer  Book 
in  syllabic  Chipewyan,  which  brings  to  mind  the  figure  of 
Caxton  bending  his  silvered  head  over  the  blocks  of  the 
first  printing-press  in  the  old  Almonry  so  many  years  be- 
fore. What  were  the  "libraries"  in  which  this  Arctic 
Apostle  did  his  work?  The  floor  of  a  scow  on  the  Peace, 
a  hole  in  the  snow,  a  fetid  corner  of  an  Eskimo  hut.  His 

1 86 


PROVIDENCE  TO  SIMPSON 

"Bishop's  Palace,"  when  he  was  not  afloat,  consisted  of  a 
bare  room  twelve  feet  by  eight,  in  which  he  studied,  cooked, 
slept,  and  taught  the  Indians. 

They  tell  you  stories  up  here  of  seeing  the  good  Bishop 
come  back  from  a  distant  journey  to  some  isolated  tribe, 
followed  at  heel  by  a  dozen  little  Indian  babies,  his  disciples 
for  the  days  to  come.  Bishop  Bompas  lived  in  one  conti- 
nent, but  manifested  in  two,  keeping  himself  closely  in 
touch  with  the  religious  and  Church  growth  of  the  Old 
World.  When  the  British  press  had  been  given  over  to 
any  particular  religious-controversial  subject,  and  the 
savants  had  finally  disposed  of  the  matter  to  their  own  sat- 
isfaction, travelling  out  by  summer  traverse  or  winter  dog- 
sled  would  come  a  convincing  pamphlet  by  Bishop  Bompas, 
to  upset  altogether  the  conclusions  of  the  wranglers. 

There  is  one  tale  of  this  man  which  only  those  can  ap- 
preciate who  travel  his  trail.  An  Indian  lad  confides  to 
us,  "Yes,  my  name  is  William  Carpenter — Bishop  Bompas 
gave  me  my  name,  he  was  a  good  man.  He  wouldn't  hurt 
anybody,  he  never  hit  a  dog,  he  wouldn't  kill  a  mosquito. 
He  had  not  much  hair  on  his  head,  and  when  it  was  meet- 
su,  when  the  Bishop  eat  his  fish,  he  shoo  that  mosquito 
away  and  he  say,  'Room  for  you,  my  little  friend,  and 
room  for  me,  but  this  is  not  your  place:  go/  ' 

We  call  upon  the  present  incumbents  of  the  little  church 
of  St.  David.  They  are  young  people,  the  Rev.  and  Mrs. 
Day,  putting  in  their  first  year  in  this  Northern  charge. 
Their  home  with  its  spotless  floors  and  walls  papered  with 
old  copies  of  The  Graphic  and  Illustrated  London  News  is 
restful  and  attractive.  The  garden  of  the  parsonage 
shows  an  amount  of  patient  work  on  the  part  of  some  one. 

187 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Potatoes  eighteen  inches  high  and  peas  twice  the  height 
of  this,  with  turnips  and  cabbages  and  cauliflower  are 
good  to  look  at.  There  are  records  to  show  that,  years 
ago,  Fort  Simpson  produced  tomatoes  and  decent  crops  of 
barley. 

Entering  the  little  church  we  see  the  neat  font  sent 


Interior  of  St.  David's  Cathedral 

here  by  Mrs.  Bompas,  "In  dear  memory  of  Lucy  May 
Owindia,  baptised  in  this  Church,  January,  1879." 
Owindia  was  one  of  the  many  red  waifs  that  the  good 
Bishop  and  Mrs.  Bompas  took  into  their  big  hearts.  Her 
story  is  a  sad  one.  Along  the  beach  at  Simpson,  Friday, 
an  Indian,  in  a  burst  of  ungovernable  temper  murdered 
his  wife  and  fled,  leaving  their  one  baby  to  perish.  It  was 
not  until  next  day  that  the  little  one  was  found,  unconscious 

1 88 


PROVIDENCE  TO  SIMPSON 

and  dying.  The  Bishop  and  Mrs.  Bompas  took  the  child 
into  their  loving  care.  To  the  name  Owindia,  which 
means  The  Weeping  One,  was  added  the  modern  Lucy 
May,  and  the  little  girlie  twined  herself  closely  round  the 
hearts  of  her  protectors.  When  the  time  seemed  ripe, 
Owindia  was  taken  back  to  England  to  school,  but  the 
wee  red  plant  would  not  flourish  in  that  soil.  She  sick- 
ened and  died.  Hence  the  memorial  and  the  inscription 
we  read  this  July  day.  Much  history  of  militant  energy, 
much  of  endurance,  and  countless  chapters  of  benevolence 
did  the  good  Bishop  write  into  the  history  of  the  North 
before,  off  on  the  Yukon  side  in  1906,  "God's  finger 
touched  him  and  he  slept." 

Missionaries  of  the  present  day  are  not  without  their 
troubles.  Mrs.  Day  tells  of  potato-whiskey  making  in 
some  illicit  still  back  in  the  mosquito-woods,  the  results  of 
which  she  fears ;  and,  even  as  we  speak,  an  Indian  lunatic 
pokes  his  head  through  the  palings  of  the  potato-patch. 
From  far  back  in  Fort  Nelson,  British  Columbia,  and  from 
Fort  Liard,  the  Hudson's  Bay  men  have  come  to  make 
their  reports  to  Mr.  Brabant  at  Simpson.  They  brought 
their  wives  and  babies  with  them,  brought  also  a  quantity 
of  beautiful  porcupine-quill  work,  Fort  Liard  being  one  of 
the  few  places  in  the  North  where  this  art  flourishes.  To- 
morrow they  will  start  back,  tacking  against  the  stream, 
as  the  imported  brides  are  doing  before  them. 

To  dive  into  the  journals  of  the  past,  of  which  the  loft 
above  the  offices  here  at  Simpson  is  full,  is  even  more  in- 
teresting than  talking  with  the  people  of  the  present.  We 
take  1837,  the  year  which  saw  the  accession  in  England 
of  the  young  and  well-beloved  Queen,  and  from  these 

189 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

musty  books  unearth  a  running  commentary  of  what  is 
doing  in  Fort  Simpson  in  that  year. 

"1837,  January  I.  The  people  were  brought  into  the  Hall,  and 
enjoyed  their  meal  with  great  appetites,  being  also  treated  to  a 
glass  of  wine  and  a  fathom  of  tobacco  and  a  pipe.  Wind  East." 


,  February  n.     Rabbits  are  numerous,  but  the  ladies  of 
the  Establishment  make  no  great  effort  in  snaring  them." 


,  February  14.  Late  last  night  arrived  a  woman,  Thaiv- 
yasc,  and  a  boy,  the  family  of  the  late  Thoesty.  They  have  all 
come  to  take  refuge  here  as  they  are  starving.  The  woman  at 
dusk  decoyed  old  Jack  away  to  camp  in  the  woods  —  and  the  old 
fellow  has  found  a  mate." 

One  wonders  if  either  Thazvyase,  the  decoyed  Jack,  or 
the  old  chronicler  was  conscious  of  the  fact  that  this  was 
St.  Valentine's  Day. 

"1837,  March  27.  Two  geese  have  been  seen  to-day,  the  first 
this  season." 


y   May   2.     Marcel    sowed    some   oats.     Mosquitoes    begin 
to  become  annoying." 

"1837,  May  5.  Wild  fowl  are  beginning  to  frequent  the  small 
lakes  of  the  neighbourhood.  The  willows  and  young  trees  are  now 
budding  forth  beautifully." 

"1837,  May  18.  Hope  began  to  plough  this  morning  with  the 
bull,  but  as  this  is  the  first  time  he  has  been  yoked,  the  day's  work 
is  found  to  be  but  poor." 

"1837,  May  19.  Felix  and  Roderick  McLeod  made  twelve  bags 
e*f  pemmican  to-day." 

"1837,  May  21.  The  Mackenzie  River  broke  up  to-day,  and 
continued  drifting  pretty  thick  till  evening." 

190 


PROVIDENCE  TO  SIMPSON 

"1837,  Jli]le  7#-     Some  of  the  Indians  killed  a  bear  before  the 
door  and  it  supplied  us  with  a  little  fresh  meat." 


,  June  19.  Flies  so  numerous  that  we  are  under  the  neces- 
sity of  putting  our  cattle  into  the  stable,  otherwise  they  will  fall 
victims  to  the  cruel  insects." 

"1837,  June  20.  Weather  very  suffocating,  thermometer  85 
above  at  three  p.  m.3  not  as  much  as  a  cloud  to  be  seen  in  the 
firmament  and  not  the  least  air  to  afford  any  refreshment  ;  this 
along  with  the  solitude  of  the  time  is  enough  to  make  people  dull. 
No  Indian  from  any  quarter  :  well  supplied  with  ammunition  last 
spring,  they  forget  us  when  they  can  get  their  own  mouths  satis- 
fied. Ashley  grinding  barley  in  the  steel  mill." 

"1837,  June  21.  Le  Mari  has  just  brought  in  some  fish  and 
a  little  bearskin  in  order  to  get  a  chemise,  he  says  he  is  not  able 
to  hunt  without  a  chemise,  as  there  are  so  many  flies  just  now. 
I  have  taken  it  upon  myself  to  give  him  the  shirt  on  credit." 

Here  a  new  hand  writes  the  records,  untrammelled  by 
any  orthographic  rules. 

"1837,  June  24.  Flys  very  numerus  and  trublsome  to  the 
Cattel." 

"1837,  ////v   //.     Starvan  Indians  going  and  coming  ourly." 

"1837,  July  13.  Six  squas  arrived  with  plenty  Bearrys  —  that's 
all  they  subsist  on  in  this  part  of  the  River." 

"1837,  July  26.  Barley  is  getting  ripe.  But  small  birds  nip 
off  the  ends  of  the  stalks  as  fast  as  it  ripens." 

"1837,  August  23.  Last  night  the  bull  broke  into  one  of  the 
gardens  where  oats  was  sown  and  eat  the  whole  up." 

"  1837,  September  18.     An  Express  arrived  from  Fort  Norman 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

with  despatches  from  the  Gentlemen  of  the  Arctic  Discovery  Expe- 
dition, and  it  is  most  satisfying  to  learn  that  the  first  object  of  the 
Expedition  was  successfully  accomplished :  on  the  4th  August  the 
Company's  flag  was  planted  on  Point  Barrow." 

"1837,  September  ipth.  Louson  put  parchment  in  the  window- 
frames." 

"1837,  October  n.  Ice  is  forming  since  yesterday  along  the 
beach." 

"1837,  November  i.  This  being  the  holiday  for  All  Saints,  the 
men  though  no  saints  celebrated  it  off  duty.  The  weather  cold 
but  fine." 

"1837,  November  2.  I  have  been  these  two  days  occupied  with 
the  blacksmith  in  making  an  oven,  and  this  evening  it  being  finished 
we  give  it  a  fair  trial  by  placing  a  large  trout  in  it  for  supper  and 
it  is  found  to  answer  most  excellently." 

"1837,  November  3.  Strong  northwest  wind  with  drift  and 
cold.  About  one  o'clock  of  last  night  the  Aurora  had  a  most  un- 
usual appearance,  seemingly  black  in  place  of  the  white  commonly 
observed  and  forming  an  arch  from  east  to  west,  consisting  of 
five  streaks,  here  and  there  broken  off." 

"1827,  November  5.  Blacksmith  making  iron  runners  for  our 
traineaux  from  old  gun-barrels." 

"1837,  November  30.  This  being  the  anniversary  of  the  Tutelar 
Saint  of  Scotland,  we  had  in  addition  to  our  usual  dinner  a  roasted 
swan  and  a  moose-nose,  a  rice  pudding,  a  cranberry  tart,  and  a 
glass  of  wine." 

"1837,  December  i.  I  was  obliged  to  give  four  pounds  of  dried 
meat  to  the  dogs  for  there  are  some  that  are  almost  dead  and  they 
et  all  the  windows  of  the  Forge." 


192 


PROVIDENCE  TO  SIMPSON 

"1837,  December  2.  Three  of  the  Fort  women  fell  into  a  fit 
of  insanity  and  kept  all  of  the  men  at  the  Fort  to  hold  them  and 
prevent  them  devouring  themselves." 


December  25.     Thermometer  35   below   the   cypher   this 
morning,  this  being  Christmas  no  labour  done.     Wind  N.  W." 

"1838,  January  i.  The  morning  was  ushered  in  by  a  salute 
fired  by  our  people  at  the  windows  and  doors,  after  which  they 
came  to  wish  us  a  Happy  New  Year  —  and  in  return,  in  conformity 
to  the  custom  of  the  country  they  were  treated,  the  men  with  half 
a  glass  of  brandy  each,  and  the  women  with  a  kiss,  and  the  whole 
of  them  with  as  many  cakes  as  they  choose  to  take  and  some 
raisins.  One  of  our  gentlemen  who  had  a  bottle  of  shrub  treated 
them  to  a  glass,  and  after  some  chit-chat  conversation  they  retired, 
firing  a  salute  on  going  out.  In  the  evening  they  played  at  Blind- 
man's-buff,  concluding  the  fete  by  a  supper  in  the  Hall.  I  also 
gave  each  of  the  men  a  fathom  of  twist  tobacco  and  a  clay  pipe." 


CHAPTER  XI 


FORT  GOOD   HOPE  ON   THE  ARCTIC   CIRCLE 

"With  souls  grown  clear 

In  this  sweet  atmosphere, 
With  influences  serene, 

Our  blood  and  brain  washed  clean, 
We've  idled  down  the  breast' 
Of  broadening  tides." 

—Chas.  G.  D.  Roberts. 

About  ten  o'clock  on  the  evening  of  July  loth,  in  broad 
daylight,  we  push  out  from  Fort  Simpson,  with  the  whole 


Fort  Simpson  by  the  Light  of  the  Aurora 

population,  white,  red,  and  parti-coloured,  on  the  banks  to 
bid  us  good-bye.     We  have  seen  present-day  Simpson  and 

194 


FORT  GOOD  HOPE 

opened  for  a  little  way  the  volume  of  the  past.  We  try  to 
imagine  what  it  is  like  in  winter-time,  and  a  picture  pushed 
into  our  hands  at  parting  gives  us  -another  viewpoint, 
showing  the  hamlet  photographed  by  the  light  of  the 
Aurora.  As  we  leave  Fort  Simpson,  the  Mackenzie's 
channel  is  a  mile  wide  and  it  increases  in  width  as  we  pro- 
ceed. For  about  seventy-five  miles  the  course  of  the  river 
is  clue  northwest,  running  four  miles  an  hour.  The  banks 
look  low,  but  when  the  pilot  takes  us  close  in  to  shore,  we 
see  that  it  is  the  size  of  the  river  which  has  cheated  our 
eyes,  and  the  cliffs  that  seemed  so  low-lying  will  measure 
two  hundred  feet  or  over.  At  the  Great  Bend  we  im- 
pinge against  two  peaks,  Mt.  Camsell  and  Mt.  Stand 
Alone,  and  here  the  Nahanni  joins  the  Mackenzie.  The 
great  river  takes  a  due  north  course  for  another  thirty 
miles,  and  the  Willow  River  flows  in  from  the  east. 

At  this  point  the  Mackenzie  enters  the  Rockies,  this 
great  spinal  mountain-chain  of  North  America  breaking 
into  parallel  ranges  to  allow  the  mighty  flood  to  flow  be- 
tween. We  feel,  as  the  boatman  did  on  Lake  Athabasca, 
that  a  day  is  as  long  as  you  can  go  without  stopping.  A 
ladder  takes  us  to  a  seat  by  the  side  of  Tenny  Gouley  in 
the  pilot-house,  who  merely  drops  the  window  to  give  us 
an  unobstructed  view,  and  says  nothing.  Tenny  Gouley 
is  one  of  the  rare  people  who  understand.  Talk  of  civ- 
ilising these  half-breeds  of  the  North!  They  have  that 
gift  of  repose  which  we  know  nothing  of,  which  we  may 
hope  to  attain  after  we  have  lived  through  automobiles  and 
air-ships  and  when  many  incarnations  will  have  allayed 
the  fever  of  that  unrest  which  we  so  blatantly  dub  "prog- 


ress." 


195 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

It  is  an  ancient  something,  this  unmapped  Mackenzie 
into  whose  silence  we  intrude.  Before  man  was,  these 
waters  had  cut  for  themselves  a  road  to  the  ocean.  These 
banks  were  once  marked  by  the  mammoth.  Previous  to 
the  Glacial  Age,  prehistoric  man  here  hunted  prehistoric 
prey;  eons  passed;  and  when  the  Ice  Age  went  out,  willows 
and  aspens  occupied  the  silt,  delicate  flower-growth  flour- 
ished, and  birds  sang  in  the  branches. 

Three  thousand  miles  of  waterway,  forest-fringed  and 
rampart-guarded,  and  of  its  treasures  the  world  knows 
naught !  They  await  man's  development  and  acceptance — 
banks  of  pitch,  wells  of  oil,  outcroppings  of  coal,  great 
masses  of  unmined  salt,  mineral  wealth  uncounted  and  un- 
guessed.  Silent  forests  have  followed  us  from  where  we 
entered  the  Athabasca,  and  these  woods  persist  to  where 
the  great  river  divides  into  its  delta  channels.  Of  the 
mineral  wealth  of  the  Liard,  the  Peace,  the  Nahanni,  and 
the  half  hundred  other  waterways  tributary  to  the  Mac- 
kenzie, practically  nothing  is  known.  There  remain  in 
these  streams  hundreds  of  miles  unnavigated,  and  channels 
innumerable  known  only  to  the  inconnu  and  the  Indian. 

It  is  one  hundred  and  twenty  years  since  Mackenzie 
descended  this  stream  to  its  mouth,  "discovering"  a  river 
along  whose  shores  centuries  before  had  smoked  the  watch- 
fires  and  risen  the  tepees  of  an  anterior  race,  wanderers 
from  Asia,  who  here,  guiltless  alike  of  onlooker  or  chron- 
icler, lived  and  loved  and  worked  out  their  drama  of  life. 
Age  follows  age,  a  new  generation  is  evolved  in  the  new 
habitat,  and  in  time  these  once-migrants  from  Asia  are 
dubbed  "the  red  men"  and  "the  American  Indian." 

We  watch  out  the  night  with  Tenny  Gouley.  In  the 

196 


FORT  GOOD  HOPE 

early  morning,  sharply  turning  a  corner,  we  flush  a  mixed 
family  of  water-fowl — gulls  in  great  variety,  something 
that  looks  like  a  brant,  and  a  loon  with  its  uncanny  laugh- 
ter. Snipe  are  on  every  batture,  and  sand-pipers,  with 
kingfishers  and  all  the  lesser  waders.  The  boreal  summer 
is  short  and  if  broods  are  to  be  raised  there  is  no  time  to 
waste.  A  riot  of  blossoms  fringes  the  banks — the  up- 
lifted magenta  torches  of  the  fireweed,  tufts  of  vivid 
golden-rod,  the  pink  petals  of  the  rose,  and  a  clustering 
carpet  of  moss  dotted  with  the  dead  white  of  the  dwarf 
cornel.  Now  and  again  a  splash  breaks  the  silence,  as 
great  slices  of  the  bank,  gnawed  under  by  the  swollen 
river,  slip  into  the  current,  carrying  each  its  cargo  of  up- 
standing spruce.  So  the  channel  of  the  Mackenzie  is  ever 
being  modified,  and  no  permanent  chart  of  its  course  can 
be  attempted. 

Winter  changes  all  this.  With  October  the  leaves  fall 
and  the  waters  begin  to  crisp  into  ice,  fishes  and  fowl  part 
company,  the  birds  fly  south  to  kinder  skies,  the  inconnu 
hurry  northward  seeking  the  sea.  Out  of  the  sky  comes 
the  snow,  the  half-breed's  "Le  convert  du  bon  Dieu,"  silent, 
soft,  and  all-covering.  The  coat  of  fox  and  rabbit  and 
ptarmigan  whitens,  too.  It  is  the  coming  of  stern  winter. 
Wandering  Dog-Rib,  Slavi,  and  Loucheux,  lone  trapper, 
the  people  of  each  isolated  fur-post,  must  alike  take  warn- 
ing. God  pity  man  or  beast  who  enters  the  six  months 
of  a  Mackenzie  winter  unfortified  by  caches  of  food  or  un- 
witting of  shelter. 

According  to  Tenny  Gouley  there  are  but  two  seasons 
in  this  country:  the  ice  season  and  the  mosquito  season. 
He  likes  winter  best.  As  he  holds  the  wheel  in  those  clever 

197 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

hands  of  his,  we  fill  and  light  his  pipe  for  him,  and  half  a 
dozen  of  his  illuminating  phrases  give  us  a  clear-cut  etch- 
ing of  the  winter  story.  From  the  lowest  form  of  life  to 
the  highest  it  is  a  struggle  for  existence.  Sinuous  as  a 
serpent,  the  mink  in  his  man-envied  coat  winds  among  the 
willows  on  rapine  bent,  the  marten  preys  upon  the  field- 
mouse,  the  lynx  hunts  the  hare,  each  form  of  life  pursues  a 
lower  while  hiding  from  a  higher,  and  all  are  the  prey  of 
the  great  hunter,  man. 

In  these  high  latitudes  it  is  the  wind  that  is  feared 
rather  than  the  intense  cold.  Before  the  coming  of  the 
missionary,  the  Indian  of  the  Mackenzie  basin  heard  in 
the  winter  wind  no  monition.  The  storm  spoke  not  to 
him  of  Divine  wrath  or  an  outraged  Deity.  The  wind 
was  the  voice  of  God,  but  it  assured  the  heathen  Slavi  of 
protection  and  power — the  Gitchi  Manitou  coming  out  of 
the  all-whiteness  to  talk  with  his  children. 

Spring  up  here  is  but  a  flutter  of  invisible  garments; 
even  when  one  is  saying  "Spring,"  full-blown  summer  is 
hot  afoot.  In  high  noon,  in  the  open  places,  pools  of  water 
form  in  the  ice.  With  glee  is  hailed  the  honk  of  the  first 
wild  goose,  the  coats  of  ptarmigan  and  rabbit  thin  and 
darken.  There  is  water  on  the  trail  of  the  kit-fox.  The 
subsidiary  streams  that  feed  the  Mackenzie  fill  their  banks 
and  flush  the  rotting  ice.  With  a  crash,  the  drift-logs, 
with  pan-ice  and  floating  islands  and  all  the  gathered 
debris,  roll  headlong  to  the  frozen  ocean. 

Do  we  wonder  that  Indians  worship  the  great  forces  of 
Nature?  Gloomy  and  wide-reaching  between  her  banks 
of  tamarack  and  spruce,  now  opening  into  a  lake  expan- 
sion, here  narrowing  between  her  stony  ramparts,  but 

198 


FORT  GOOD  HOPE 

ever  hurrying  on  and  on  and  on  to  that  far  ocean  of  ice, 
the  Mackenzie  has  always  been  good  to  her  own,  the  self- 
contained  and  silent  people  along  her  banks.  In  this  vast 
land  men  speak  not  of  bread  as  the  staff  of  life ;  their  un- 
voiced prayer  is,  "Give  us  our  fish  in  due  season."  From 
the  waters  of  this  river,  since  man  was,  have  the  Indians 
drawn  and  dipped  and  seined  their  sustenance — inconnu, 
jack-fish,  grayling,  white-fish,  and  loche.  The  wide 
bosom  of  the  Mackenzie,  in  winter's  ice  or  summer's  spate, 
forever  has  been  the  people's  highway — a  trail  worn 
smooth  by  sled-runner  and  moccasin  in  the  ice-season, 
melting  its  breast  in  the  spring-time  to  open  a  way  to  the 
questing  bow  of  the  birch-bark. 

Along  these  banks,  forgotten  tepee-poles,  deserted  fish- 
stage,  and  lonely  grave  remain,  a  crumbling  commentary 
of  yesterday,  a  hint  of  recurring  to-morrows.  Son  suc- 
ceeds father,  race  replaces  race,  but  the  great  Mackenzie 
flows  on,  and,  as  it  flows,  unwritten  history  along  these 
banks  is  ever  in  the  making.  Tragedy  and  triumph,  self- 
aggrandisement  and  self-obliteration,  are  here  as  well  as 
in  the  noisy  world  we  have  left.  Lessons  these  are  for  us, 
too,  if  we  bring  the  keen  eye  and  listening  ear.  Among 
Mackenzie  tribes  no  Yellow-Knife,  Dog-Rib,  or  Slavi 
starved  while  another  had  meat,  no  thievish  hand  despoiled 
the  cache  of  another.  A  man's  word  was  his  bond,  and 
a  promise  was  kept  to  the  death.  Not  all  the  real  things 
of  life  are  taught  to  the  Cree  by  the  Christian.  Courage  is 
better  than  culture,  playing  the  game  of  more  importance 
than  the  surface  niceties  of  civilisation,  to  be  a  man  now  of 
more  moment  than  to  hope  to  be  an  angel  hereafter. 

About  noon  we  reach  Fort  Wrigley,  and  are  boarded 

199 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

by  priests  and  Indians  all  interested  in  the  new  steamer 
and  impressed  with  its  size.  One  asks  if  it  is  a  boat  or 
an  island,  and  another  declares  it  is  "just  like  a  town." 
Fort  Wrigley  is  an  inconspicuous  post  with  a  dreary 
enough  record  of  hunger  and  hardship.  We  find  it  rich 
in  flowers  and  will  always  remember  it  as  the  one  place  in 
the  North  in  which  we  gathered  the  fringed  gentian 
(Gentiana  crinata)  with  its  lance-shaped  leaves,  delicately- 
fringed  corollas,  and  deep  violet  blue.  The  fringed  gen- 
tian is  rapidly  becoming  a  thing  of  the  past  in  a  great  many 
localities,  and  it  gives  us  pleased  surprise  to  find  it  far  up 
in  latitude  63°.  Purple  asters  are  here,  too,  and  the  heart- 
shaped  seed-pods  of  shepherd's-purse  or  mother's-heart. 
Wrigley  adds  to  our  collection  the  green-penciled  flowers 
of  the  grass  of  Parnassus,  with  wild  flax,  and  both  pink 
and  purple  columbines  already  forming  seed. 

Below  Wrigley  rugged  ranges  border  both  sides  of  the 
river  at  a  distance  from  the  shore-line  of  ten  or  twelve 
miles,  and  we  come  to  Roche  Trempe-1'eau  or  "The  Rock 
by  the  Riverside,"  an  outcrop  of  Devonian  limestone  ris- 
ing on  the  right  bank  a  sheer  fifteen  hundred  feet  above  the 
river.  We  come  into  view  of  the  "boucans"  or  beds  of 
lignite  coal  which  have  been  continuously  burning  here 
since  Mackenzie  saw  them  in  1789  and  mistook  their  smoke 
for  tepee  fires.  At  this  point  of  his  journey,  had  Macken- 
zie been  a  timorous  man,  he  would  have  turned  back,  for 
natives  came  to  meet  him  and  told  him  with  great  empress- 
ment  that  it  would  require  several  winters  to  get  to  the 
sea  and  that  old  age  would  come  upon  him  before  the 
period  of  his  return.  He  would  also  encounter  monsters 
of  gigantic  stature  adorned  with  wings.  They  added  that 

200 


FORT  GOOD  HOPE 

there  were  two  impossible  falls  in  the  river,  and  described 
the  people  of  the  Arctic  coast  as  possessing  the  extraor- 
dinary power  of  killing  with  their  eyes.  These  Indians 
told  Mackenzie  of  "small  white  buffalo"  which  they  hunted 
to  the  westward.  Perhaps  they  meant  the  mountain  sheep, 
the  Sass-sei-yeuneh  or  "Foolish  Bear"  of  the  Slavis. 
It  is  midnight  in  the  midst  of  a  howling  wind-storm 


Indians   at    Fort    Norman 

when  we  come  abreast  of  Fort  Norman  where  Bear  River, 
the  outlet  of  Great  Bear  Lake,  makes  into  the  Mackenzie. 
It  is  not  an  easy  thing  to  handle  the  big  steamer  in  a 
swift  current  and  in  the  teeth  of  a  storm  like  this,  and 
we  have  been  in  more  comfortable  places  at  midnight. 
However,  after  running  with  the  current,  backing  water, 
and  clever  finesse,  we  come  safely  to  anchor  against  the 
shore  opposite  the  Fort,  under  the  lee  of  Bear  Rock.  This 
is  a  fourteen-hundred  foot  peak  which  starts  up  from 

15  201 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

the  angle  formed  by  the  junction  of  the  Bear  River  with 
the  Mackenzie. 

The  water  of  Bear  River  is  clear  and  its  current  swift 
through  the  whole  of  its  hundred-mile  course.  Great  Bear 
Lake,  known  chiefly  to  the  outside  world  from  the  fact  that 
Sir  John  Franklin  established  winter-quarters  here  at  Fort 
Confidence,  is  an  immense  sheet  of  water,  probably  11,500 
square  miles  in  extent,  and  bigger  even  than  Great  Slave 
Lake.  Five  arms  meeting  in  a  common  centre  give  the 
lake  an  unusual  shape,  the  longest  distance  from  shore  to 
shore  being  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles.  The  south  and 
west  banks  are  well  wooded,  and  we  are  surprised  to  learn 
that  the  lake  remains  open  at  the  outlet  until  very  late 
in  the  autumn  and  sometimes  throughout  the  whole  winter. 

March  sees  the  greatest  depth  of  snow  at  Great  Bear 
Lake,  probably  three  feet.  In  mid- April  the  thaws  begin, 
and  by  May-day  arrive  the  earlier  water-fowl.  By  the 
end  of  May  the  herbaceous  plants  begin  to  leaf,  frogs  are 
heard,  and  there  is  bright  light  at  midnight.  The  end  of 
July  brings  blueberries,  and  at  this  time  stars  are  visible 
at  midnight.  September  is  ushered  in  by  flurries  of  snow, 
and  by  the  tenth  of  October  the  last  of  the  wild-fowl 
depart ;  but  it  is  often  Christmas  Day  before  the  centre  of 
the  lake  freezes  over. 

When  we  awake  it  is  Sunday,  July  I2th,  Orangeman's 
Day,  with  no  one  going  round  with  a  chip  on  his  shoulder, 
and  nobody  to  whistle  "Boyne  Water."  The  wind  falling, 
the  steamer  is  turned  and  we  bear  away  across  the  river  to 
Fort  Norman,  leaving  the  shelter  of  Bear  Rock,  the  "Nest 
of  the  Wind"  of  the  Indian.  Tradition  and  superstition 
hang  round  this  great  butte,  with  its  heart  of  coloured  gyp- 

202 


FORT  GOOD  HOPE 

sum  several  hundred  feet  in  thickness,  and  on  its  face  we 
plainly  see  the  three  beaver-skins  that  the  Great  Spirit, 
"in  the  beginning/'  spread  out  there  to  dry.  We  find  Fort 
Norman  a  beautiful  place  in  the  sunshine  of  this  Sunday 


Roman   Catholic  Church  at   Fort   Norman 

morning,  the  souls  of  its  scanty  populace  well  looked  after 
by  Roman  and  Protestant  missionary.  Bishop  Breynat 
is  expected  on  the  mission  boat  coming  up  the  river,  and  all 
is  excitement  among  the  sheep  belonging  to  his  particular 
flock.  The  parson  of  the  other  fold  is  in  his  library,  and, 

203 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

visiting  him,  we  duly  admire  his  neat  garden  of  potatoes 
and  peas,  beets  and  turnips.  The  reverend  gentleman 
owns  up  to  finding  Norman  lonely  in  winter  and  recalls 
with  appreciation  his  last  charge  in  the  outports  of  New- 
foundland, where  the  tedium  was  relieved  by  tennis  and 
pink-teas. 

Seldom  have  we  seen  a  more  beautiful  vista  than  the 


The  Ramparts  of  the  Mackenzie 

up-climbing  path  leading  from  the  shore  to  the  Roman 
chapel  at  the  head  of  the  hill.  It  is  bordered  by  flaming 
fireweed  and  lined  with  the  eager  faces  of  children  dressed 
in  their  Sunday  best,  ready  for  morning  mass  and  awaiting 
the  blessing  of  their  Bishop.  Wherever  the  willow-herb 
flourishes  there  a  Guadet  is  serving  The  Company.  One 
was  in  charge  at  lonely  Wrigley,  and  we  find  his  brother 
here. 

204 


FORT  GOOD  HOPE 

Leaving  Norman  before  church-time,  we  travel  on,  the 
glory  of  the  peerless  day  reflected  in  the  face  of  every 
one  on  board.  We  float  between  two  spurs  of  the  Rock- 
ies, and  about  eight  in  the  evening  pass  Roche  Carcajou, 
looking  in  vain  for  the  wolverine  the  name  calls  for.  The 
Indians  would  seem  to  be  strangely  inconsistent  in  this 
connection.  If  there  is  one  animal  they  fear  it  is  the 
carcajou,  and  with  him  they  have  an  old,  old  pact:  the 
Indian  on  his  side  promises  never  to  shoot  a  wolverine, 
and  that  cunning  thief  agrees  to  leave  unmolested  the 
cache  of  the  Red  man.  While  this  bargain  still  holds, 
since  the  day  when  ammunition  first  came  into  the  coun- 
try no  Indian  has  passed  this  rocky  replica  of  the  carcajou 
without  firing  a  shot  at  the  face  of  the  cliff. 

It  is  an  hour  before  midnight  when  we  reach  one  of 
the  two  greatest  spectaculars  of  our  whole  six  months* 
journeying, — the  Ramparts.  The  great  river  which  has 
been  running  at  a  width  of  several  miles,  here  narrows 
to  five  hundred  yards,  and  for  a  distance  of  five  or  six  miles 
forces  its  flow  between  perpendicular  walls  of  limestone 
three  hundred  feet  high.  Between  the  cliffs,  scarped  by 
Nature  into  turrets,  towers,  and  castellated  summits,  the 
great  Mackenzie,  "turned  on  edge,"  flows,  maintaining  a 
steady  rate  of  four  or  five  miles  an  hour.  The  depth  of  the 
water  equals  the  visible  height  of  the  palisaded  walls.  In 
spring,  the  ice  jams  the  stupendous  current.  The  dammed- 
up  water  once  lifted  a  skiff  bodily,  leaving  it,  when  the 
flood  subsided,  a  derelict  on  the  cliffs  above. 

As  we  pass  in  silence  we  can  but  look  and  feel.  One 
day  a  Canadian  artist  will  travel  north  and  paint  the 
Ramparts,  some  poet,  gifted  with  the  inevitable  word,  here 

205 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

write  the  Canadian  Epic.  Awed  and  uplifted,  our  one 
wish  is  to  be  alone;  the  vision  that  is  ours  for  one  hour 
of  this  Arctic  night  repays  the  whole  summer's  travel. 
The  setting  of  the  picture  is  that  ineffable  light,  clear  yet 
mellow,  which  without  dawn  and  without  twilight  rises 
from  flowing  river  to  starless  heavens,  and  envelopes  the 
earth  as  with  a  garment, — the  light  that  never  was  on  sea 


""    i~^----  •'  -   I    ?P^ 


Rampart  House  on  the   Porcupine  near  the  Mackenzie   Mouth 

or  land.  We  could  not  have  chosen  a  more  impressive 
hour  in  which  to  pass  the  portal  into  the  Arctic  World. 
A  hundred  yards  from  the  entrance  to  the  Ramparts, 
a  group  of  Tndians  has  found  foothold  at  the  base  of  the 
escarpment.  They  have  been  waiting  for  three  days  to 
signal  our  arrival,  and  as  they  catch  sight  of  the  big 
steamer  they  cry  out  their  greeting  and  fire  a  volley  from 
their  old-fashioned  rifles.  The  sound  reverberates  from 
rock  to  rock,  ricochets,  and  is  carried  on  to  waiting  In- 

206 


FORT  GOOD  HOPE 

dians  on  the  other  side  lower  down.  They  repeat  the 
salute,  and  others  take  it  up.  Signals  are  flashed  from 
each  little  camp,  the  lights  being  repeated  in  the  dancing 
river;  and  so  it  is  by  salvos  of  musketry  and  answering 
watch-fires  that,  at  midnight  in  broad  daylight,  we  reach 
Fort  Good  Hope  under  the  Arctic  Circle. 

The  Arctic  Circle!  When  we  used  to  sit  on  uneasy 
school-benches  and  say  our  "joggafy"  lesson,  what  did 
that  term  spell  for  us?  Icebergs,  polar  bears,  and  the 
snows  of  eternal  winter.  Nine-tenths  of  the  people  in 
America  to-day  share  the  same  idea,  and  so  far  as  they 
think  of  the  Arctic  Circle  at  all,  think  of  it  as  a  forbidding 
place,  a  frozen  silence  where  human  beings  seldom  pene- 
trate. What  did  we  find  there?  Approaching  the  shore, 
we  stand  in  the  bow  with  the  pilot  and  his  daughter,  whose 
name  suggests  the  Stone  Age, — Mrs.  Pierre  la  Hache. 
Tenny  wears  his  "other  clothes"  and  a  resplendent  1' As- 
sumption belt,  for  this  is  his  home.  "It  looks  like  a  swan 
on  the  water,"  he  says,  when  the  first  white  houses  come 
into  view.  "You  like  it,  do  you  not?"  "Like  it?  Good 
Hope  is  God's  Country!"  There  is  no  place  like  home, 
even  when  it  is  the  Arctic  Circle! 

The  populace  look  down  upon  us  from  the  high  bank, 
every  wiggle  of  the  dogs'  tails  indicating  the  general  impa- 
tience at  the  time  it  takes  the  big  boat  to  make  a  landing. 
Down  the  steps  comes  a  stately  figure,  Mr.  C.  P.  Gaudet, 
the  head  and  brains  of  Good  Hope.  Of  the  two  thousand 
servants  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company,  this  is  the  man 
who  has  the  greatest  number  of  years  of  active  service 
to  his  credit.  Mr.  Gaudet  has  continuously  served  The 
Company  for  fifty-seven  years,  and  his  ambition  is  to  put 

207 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

in  three  years  more.  The  Company  gives  its  employes  a 
pension  after  thirty  years'  service,  and  this  veteran  of 
Good  Hope  surely  deserves  two  pensions.  The  steps  are 
almost  precipitous,  but  the  old  gentleman  insists  upon  com- 
ing down  to  present  in  person  his  report  to  his  superior 
officer.  Then  the  two  climb  up  the  bank  together,  the 
younger  man  giving  a  strong  arm  to  the  older.  We  fol- 
low, and  half-way  up  the  two  figures  stop,  ostensibly  for 
Mr.  Gaudet  to  point  out  to  Mr.  Brabant  the  view  up  river. 
We  suspect  the  halt  is  to  allow  the  Fort  Hope  Factor  to 
get  breath,  for  the  sky-line  stairway  is  hard  on  asthma. 

Reaching  the  top,  we  find  the  air  heavy  with  the  per- 
fume of  wild  roses,  and  we  can  scarcely  make  our  way 
through  the  sea  of  welcoming  Indians.  Old  people  grasp 
our  hands  as  if  we  were  life-time  friends  just  back  from  a 
far  journey.  Young  men  greet  us  as  long-lost  chums, 
the  women  call  to  the  children,  and  there  seems  to  be  a 
reception  committee  to  rout  out  the  old  beldames,  little 
children,  and  the  bed-ridden:  it  is  hand-shaking  gone 
mad.  We  shake  hands  with  every  soul  on  the  voting- 
list  of  Good  Hope,  to  say  nothing  of  minors,  suffragettes, 
and  the  unfranchised  proletariat,  before  at  last  we  are 
rescued  by  smiling  Miss  Gaudet  and  dragged  in  to  one  of 
the  sweetest  homes  in  all  the  wide  world. 

We  meet  Mrs.  Gaudet,  a  dear  old  lady  with  a  black  cap, 
the  pinkest  of  pink  cheeks,  and  the  kind  of  smile  that 
brings  a  choky  feeling  into  your  throat  and  makes  you 
think  of  your  mother.  She  gives  us  home-made  wine  and 
gaieties,  and  as  we  smell  the  mignonette  flowering  in  the 
window-ledge  and  look  around  the  walls  of  the  "homey" 
room  we  wonder  if  this  really  can  be  the  "Arctic  Circle, 

208 


FORT  GOOD  HOPE 

°  from  the  North  Pole,  which  marks  the  distance  that 
the  sun's  rays,"  etc.,  etc.,  as  the  little  geographies  so 
blithely  used  to  state.  On  the  walls  are  the  Sunday  School 
tickets  that  the  young  Gaudets,  now  grey-haired  men  and 
women,  earned  by  reciting  the  Catechism  when  they  were 
little  boys  and  girls — the  same  old  tickets  that  flourish  In 
the  latitudes  below.  Here  a  pink  Prodigal  feeds  sky-blue 
swine  in  a  saffron  landscape,  and  off  there  a  little  old  lady 
in  a  basque  leads  a  boy  in  gaiters  and  a  bell-crowned  hat 
down  a  shiny  road.  They  seem  to  be  going  on  a  picnic, 
and  the  legend  runs,—  -"Hagar  and  Ishmael  her  son  into 
the  desert  led,  with  water  in  a  bottle  and  a  little  loaf 
of  bread/' 

Thirty  years  ago  when  Miss  Gaudet  was  a  little  girl 
she  got  her  first  Scripture  lesson  from  an  R.  C.  Sister,  the 
story  of  our  old  Mother  in  the  first  garden.  One  Sunday 
was  review  day,  and  this  question  arose:  "And  how  did 
God  punish  Adam  and  Eve  for  their  disobedience  ?"  Quick 
came  the  girlie's  reply,  "They  had  to  leave  The  Company's 
service!" 

Mrs.  Gaudet  thinks  people  rush  very  much  nowadays. 
"We  get  a  mail  every  year  without  fail,  and  sometimes 
there  is  a  second  mail."  This  is  to  her  the  height  of  mod- 
ernism. That  second  mail  is  an  interesting  one.  A  letter 
written  in  Montreal  in  winter  and  addressed  to  Fort  Good 
Hope  crosses  Canada  by  the  C.  P.  R.  to  Vancouver,  by 
coastwise  steamer  it  travels  north  and  reaches  the  Yukon. 
Then  some  plucky  constable  of  the  Mounted  Police  makes 
a  winter  patrol  and  takes  the  precious  mail-bags  by  dog- 
sled  across  an  unmarked  map  to  Fort  Macpherson  on  Peel 
River.  Thence  the  Montreal-written  letter  is  carried  by 

209 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Indian  runner  south  to  Good  Hope  on  the  Arctic  Circle. 

We  love  to  talk  with  Mrs.  Gaudet,  she  is  so  dear. 
Mother-love  and  devotion  to  The  Company, — these  are  the 
two  key-notes  of  her  character.  Looking  back  through 
the  years,  she  tells  of  a  visit  she  made  "outside"  to  Mon- 
treal when  she  was  a  young  mother — it  was  just  fifty  years 
ago, — measles  attacked  her  three  babies  and  within  a  week 
they  all  died,  "Le  bon  Dieu  prit  les  tons,  mes  trois  jolis 
en f ants!"  Some  years  after  this  at  Macpherson  an  Es- 
kimo woman  stole  another  of  her  babies,  snatching  it  from 
a  swing  in  the  fort  yard,  and  not  yielding  it  up  until  it 
was  torn  from  her  by  force. 

We  wander  out  into  the  midnight  daylight  where  with 
dogs  and  Indians  the  whole  settlement  is  still  a  stirred-up 
ant-hill.  Splendid  vegetable  gardens  are  in  evidence 
here, — potatoes,  turnips,  carrots,  cabbages.  Should  we 
reach  the  North  Pole  itself  we  would  expect  there  a 
Hudson's  Bay  fort,  its  Old  World  courtesy  and  its  potato- 
patch.  As  we  pass  the  store  of  the  "free-trader,"  he  says, 
"Yes,  Mrs.  Gaudet  is  a  sweet  woman,  kindly,  and  dear, 
but  she  doesn't  approve  of  me.  She  makes  a  point  of  not 
seeing  me  as  she  passes  here  twice  a  day  on  her  way  to 
church." 

"Why?"  we  ask,  much  surprised. 

"Oh,"  with  a  laugh,  "you  see,  I  sort  of  trade  in  oppo- 
sition to  the  H.  B.  Company,  and  a  fellow  who  would  do 
this  comes  mighty  near  having  horns  and  a  tail !" 

We  step  into  the  "Little  Church  of  the  Open  Door,"  and 
sit  down  and  think.  The  quaint  altar  and  pictures,  the 
hand-carved  chairs,  and  the  mural  decorations  all  point 
to  the  patient  work  of  priests.  We  see  across  the  lane 

210 


FORT  GOOD  HOPE 

the  home  of  the  R.  C.  clergy,  looking  like  a  transplanted 
Swiss  chalet  and  carrying  on  each  door-lintel  the  name  of 
a  saint, — St.  Matthew,  St.  Bartholomew,  St.  John.  From 
the  shrubbery  outside  wafts  in  the  sweet  old-world  perfume 
of  wild-roses.  Our  thoughts  will  often  drift  back  to  this 
restful  little  sanctuary,  "Our  Lady  of  Good  Hope,"  the 
mission  founded  here  in  the  year  1859  by  M.  Henri  Grol- 
lier,  R.  C.  missionary  priest  of  Montpelier. 


CHAPTER  XII 

ARCTIC    RED    RIVER    AND    ITS    ESKIMO 

"Behold,  I  sing  a  pagan  song  of  old, 
And  out  of  my  full  heart, 
Hold  forth  my  hands  that  so  I  would  enfold 
The  Infinite  thou  art. 

What  matter  all  the  creeds  that  come  and  go, 
The  many  gods  of  men? 
My  blood  outcasts  them  from  its  joyous  flow." 

— A  Pagan  Hymn. 

"The  Eskimo  is  a  short,  squat,  dirty  man  who  lives  on 
blubber,"  said  text-books  we  had  been  weaned  on,  and 
this  was  the  man  we  looked  for.  We  didn't  find  him. 

It  was  at  Arctic  Red  River,  one  hundred  and  ninety 
miles  of  river-travel  since  we  cut  the  Polar  Circle,  that 
we  came  upon  our  first  Eskimo,  the  true  class-conscious 
Socialist  of  Karl  Marx,  the  one  man  without  a  master 
on  the  American  continent.  A  little  band  of  Kogmollycs 
they  were,  men,  women,  and  kiddies,  who  had  come  in  to 
trade  silver-fox  skins  for  tobacco  and  tea  at  the  Post  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company. 

On  the  rocks  they  sat,  waiting  for  the  new  steamer  to 
make  her  landing,  and  much  excited  were  they  over  the 
iron  bowels  of  this  puffing  kayak  of  the  white  men.  An 
Eskimo  generally  lets  you  know  what  he  thinks,  and  this 
is  a  basic  difference  between  him  and  the  Indian.  An 
Indian  is  always  trying  to  impress  you  with  his  impor- 

212 


ARCTIC  RED  RIVER  AND  ITS  ESKIMO 

tarice ;  he  thinks  about  his  dignity  all  day  and  dreams  of  it 
at  night.  The  Mackenzie  River  Eskimo  is  a  man  who 
commands  your  respect  the  moment  you  look  at  him,  and 
yet  he  is  withal  the  frankest  of  mortals,  affable,  joyous, 
fairly  effervescing  with  good-humour.  His  attitude  to- 
ward the  world  is  that  of  a  little  half-Swiss,  half-Chinese 
baby  friend  of  mine  who,  in  an  ecstacy  of  good-will  when 
she  saw  her  first  Christmas-tree,  clutched  me  tightly  round 
the  neck  with,  "Everybody  are  my  friend." 

One  of  the  Kogmollycs,  rejoicing  in  the  name  of  Wilfrid 
Laurier,  strode  on  deck  with  the  swing  of  a  cavalryman 
and  signified  his  willingness  to  trade.  Loading  down  my 
hunting-coat  with  pictures,  pipes,  tobacco,  looking-glasses, 
needles,  files,  knives,  I  climbed  over  the  cliffs  with  him 
to  his  hut.  Down  on  the  floor  we  sat.  Wilfrid  put  his 
treasures  between  his  knees  before  him,  I  sat  opposite,  and 
the  barter  began.  "What  for  this  fellow,  huh?"  and  he 
held  up  a  piece  of  carved  ivory,  a  little  triangular  minc- 
ing-knife, a  fur  mat  that  his  wife  had  made,  or  the  skin 
of  a  baby-seal.  The  first  thing  he  asked  for  was  scented 
soap,  the  ring  that  I  was  wearing,  and  my  porcupine-quill 
hat-band  which  looked  good  to  him;  every  exchange  was 
accompanied  with  smiles,  each  bargain  sealed  with  a  hand- 
shake. 

Wilfrid  Laurier  is  doing  his  part  toward  bridging  the 
old  chasm  of  animosity  existing  between  the  Eskimo  and 
their  next-door  neighbours,  the  Loucheux  Indians  to  the 
South.  Wilfrid,  in  taking  to  himself  a  Loucheux  woman 
to  wife,  has  done  what  the  Seventh  Henry  of  England  did 
when  he  married  Elizabeth  of  York.  Wilfrid's  son  and 
heir  holds  the  same  place  in  Northern  history  as  did  Henry 

213 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

VIII,  who  united  in  himself  the  claims  of  the  rival  Roses 
of  York  and  Lancaster. 

Mrs.  Ila-la-Rocko  asked  us  into  her  hut,  where  we  re- 


A  Kogmollyc  Family 

clined  on  fur  mats  while  the  whole  family,  wreathed  in 
smiles,  tumbled  over  themselves  to  do  us  honour.  One  by 
one  they  danced  for  us,  stopping  to  tell  their  names  and 
to  ask  ours.  "Major  Jabussy,"  "Missa  Blown,"  they  got 
the  names  all  right  but  applied  them  promiscuously,  and 

214 


ARCTIC  RED  RIVER  AND  ITS  ESKIMO 

then  went  into  roars  of  laughter  at  their  blunder.  The 
merriment  was  infectious.  Let  no  one  waste  further  sym- 
pathy over  the  poor  benighted  Eskimo  of  this  Canadian 
North.  The  Mackenzie  River  Eskimo  is,  with  perhaps 
the  one  exception  of  an  Arab  I  fraternized  with  in  Chicago 
at  the  World's  Fair,  the  most  splendid  specimen  of  physi- 
cal manhood  I  have  ever  seen ;  in  physique  he  stood  out  in 
splendid  contrast  to  the  Europeans  and  Americans  who 
were  investigating  him  and  his.  Arrow-straight  and  six 
feet  tall,  mark  him  as  he  swings  along  the  strand.  His 
is  the  carriage  and  bearing  of  the  high-bred  Tartar.  This 
man  has  "arrived";  he  has  an  air  of  assuredness  that  in 
the  drawing-rooms  "Outside"  you  seldom  see. 

The  Eskimo  of  the  Arctic  foreshore  are  of  two  tribes : 
the  Kogmollycs  to  the  east  of  the  Mackenzie  mouth,  the 
Nunatalmutes,  Dwellers  in  the  Hills,  or  Deermen,  origi- 
nally from  the  interior  to  the  West,  but  now  for  the  great 
part  making  their  home  at  Herschel  Island,  eighty  miles 
from  the  Mackenzie  delta,  attracted  there  by  the  oppor- 
tunity of  working  for  the  American  whalers. 

One  of  the  striking  figures  of  the  North  is  Oo-vai- 
oo-ak,  headman  of  the  Kogmollycs,  living  in  dignified  hap- 
piness with  his  children  and  his  two  wives.  This  second 
wife  was  the  cause  of  much  comment  among  us.  How 
did  she  happen?  It  was  this  way.  Mr.  Oo-vai-oo-ak 
married  Mrs.  Oo-vai-oo-ak  the  Elder  when  they  were  both 
young.  Children  were  born  to  them,  the  big  seal  was 
plenty,  succulent  beluga-steaks  graced  the  board,  and  the 
years  followed  one  another  as  smoothly  as  glacial  drift 
or  the  strip  of  walrus-blubber  that  the  last  baby  drops 
down  its  red  gullet  as  a  plummet  sinks  in  a  well. 

215 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

One  day  after  a  big  hunt,  as  Mrs.  Oo-vai-oo-ak  placed 
before  her  lord  the  matutinal  mess  of  whale-skin  boiled 
to  that  particular  rubber-boot  consistency  which  was  his 
taste,  she  said,  "I'm  not  as  young  as  I  was,  you  enter- 
tain much,  the  household  cares  are  heavy,  I'd  like  you  to 
get  another  wife  to  help  me  with  the  work."  Chief  Oo- 
vai-oo-ak  chewed  upon  the  whale-skin  and  the  suggestion 
of  his  spouse.  Out  in  his  kayak,  dodging  the  icebergs,  he 
turned  it  over  in  his  mind  for  half  a  day;  and  as  the  out- 
come of  his  cogitations  Mrs.  Oo-vai-oo-ak  the  Younger, 
a  rollicking  and  comely  maiden,  joined  the  family  circle. 

How  does  it  work  out  ?  For  ten  days  I  sat  round  their 
hospitable  fire  trying  hard  for  the  viewpoint  of  each  mem- 
ber of  this  Farthest  North  family  of  fellow-Canadians.  I 
have  lived  under  many  roof-trees,  but  never  have  I  seen 
a  more  harmonious  family,  nor  a  menage  of  nicer  adjust- 
ment. Mrs.  Oo-vai-oo-ak  the  Elder,  full  of  the  mellow 
juice  of  life,  waggish  and  keen,  "quick  at  the  uptak',"  as 
the  Scotch  say,  presides  over  her  household  with  dignity, 
never  for  a  moment  relaxing  her  hold  on  the  situation. 
Chief  Oo-vai-oo-ak  wisely  leaves  the  interior  economy  of 
the  household  in  the  hands  of  the  women.  He  is  the  quiet, 
dignified  gentleman  with  an  easy  manner  that  courtiers 
and  plenipotentiaries  extraordinary  might  envy.  His  six 
feet  two  inches  of  height,  magnificent  physique  and  superb 
carriage  would  mark  him  out  as  a  man  of  distinction  at 
any  race-course,  polo-meet,  or  political  reception  where 
men  of  the  world  forgather. 

Observing  the  small,  strong,  exquisitely-formed  hands 
and  feet  of  the  Oo-vai-oo-aks,  the  almost-white  complex- 
ions dashed  with  ruddy  scarlet,  the  easy  grace  that  even 

216 


ARCTIC  RED  RIVER  AND  ITS  ESKIMO 

the  children  have,  and,  above  all,  the  simple  dignity  which 
compels  respect,  one  recognizes  here  an  ancestry  harking 
back  to  Old  World  culture  and  distinction. 

How  does  the  young  wife  fit  in?     No  suffragette  need 


Roxi  and  the  Oo-vai-oo-ak  Family 

break  a  lance  for  her,  demanding  a  ballot,  dower-rights, 
and  the  rest  of  it.  She  is  happy  and  busy.  All  day  long 
she  sings  and  laughs  as  she  prepares  the  family  fish  and 
feast  of  fat  things,  she  pays  deference  to  her  co-wife, 
romps  with  the  children,  and  expands  like  an  anemone 
under  the  ardent  smile  of  her  lord.  When  the  grave  ques- 
IG  217 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

tion  was  under  discussion  regarding  the  exchange  of  her 
pendant  bead-and-shell  ear-rings  for  a  pair  we  had  brought 
from  the  shops  of  the  white  men,  the  two  spouses  dis- 
cussed the  matter  in  all  its  phases  earnestly  together,  as 
chummy  as  two  school-girls. 

The  Oo-vai-oo-ak  family  was  a  puzzle  to  the  on-lookers, 
who  sought  in  vain  for  some  one  of  the  three  contracting 
parties  to  pity.  They  were  all  so  abundantly  happy,  each 
in  his  or  her  own  way,  that  Walking  Delegate  could  find 
no  crack  here  for  the  opening  wedge  of  discord.  If  no 
one  i$;to  be  pitied,  then  surely  for  this  new  departure  in 
matrimony  there  must  be  some  one  for  the  virtuous  to 
blame.  But  why? 

Kipling  declares,  "There's  never  a  law  of  God  or  man 
runs  north  of  fifty-three."  The  Eskimo  has  worked  out 
his  life-problem  independent  quite  from  the  so-called  civil- 
isations evolved  to  the  south  of  him.  He  is  his  own  man. 

In  the  rest  of  America  and  in  Europe  we  have  formu- 
lated a  rule  of  "One  man,  One  wife,"  allowing  an  elasticity 
of  the  rule  in  Chicago  and  elsewhere,  so  that  it  may  read, 
"One  man,  one  wife  at  a  time."  Are  we  so  sure  of  results 
that  we  are  in  a  position  to  force  our  rule  upon  the  Es- 
kimo? 

Following  the  animals  that  God  has  ordained  shall  be 
their  daily  bread,  in  little  communal  bands  they  thread  the 
silent  places  of  the  North.  On  the  Arctic  foreshore  we 
have  a  people  different  to  all  other  peoples;  here  is  no 
inherited  wealth,  no  accumulation  of  property.  A  man's 
skill  as  a  hunter  determines  his  ability  to  support  others, 
the  pursuit  of  seal  is  the  pursuit  of  happiness;  life  and 
liberty  belong  to  all.  In  many  of  the  little  wandering 

218 


ARCTIC  RED  RIVER  AND  ITS  ESKIMO 

groups  or  septs  or  clans  the  women  outnumber  the  men. 
A  mighty  hunter  is  able  to  kill  seals  at  will  and  provide 
blubber  enough  for  two  or  even  three  wives.  The  Cana- 
dian Eskimo  is  the  direct  antithesis  of  the  French-Canadian 
in  the  matter  of  large  families ;  seldom  are  more  than  three 
children  born  to  one  mother.  Now,  the  crux  of  the  matter 
is  this:  is  it  better  for  one  man  to  marry  and  provide 
for  one  wife  and  three  children,  leaving  on  the  community 
a  floating  sisterhood  of  unattached  females,  or  is  it  more 
sane  and  generous  for  the  Northland  Nimrod  to  marry  as 
many  wives  as  he  can  comfortably  support,  and  raise  up 
olive-branches  to  save  from  extermination  the  men  of  the 
Kogmollycs,  the  honourable  people  of  the  Nunatalmutes  ? 

The  fact  that  the  women  prefer  a  vulgar-fraction  of  a 
man,  an  Eskimo  equity  in  connubial  bliss,  to  spearing  wal- 
rus on  their  own  account  is  a  significant  -factor  in  the 
problem.  And  before  we  piously  condemn  either  the  lord 
or  the  lady  in  the  case,  it  is  well  that  we  adjust  our  judg- 
ment to  the  latitude  of  68°  North  and  take  cognizance  of 
the  fact  that  no  seductive  "Want  Columns"  in  the  daily 
press  here  offer  a  niche  whereby  unappropriated  spinsters 
may  become  self-supporting  wage-earners  as  chaste  type- 
writers, school-teachers,  Marcel-wavers,  or  manicurists. 
To  keep  the  vital  spark  aglow  you  must  kill  walrus  and 
seal  in  your  own  proper  person  or  by  proxy,  for  no  other 
talent  of  body  or  grace  of  mind  is  convertible  into  that  sus- 
taining meat  and  heating  blubber  which  all  must  have  in 
order  to  live. 

Economically,  then,  a  woman  must  herself  hunt  or  have 
a  man  or  part  of  a  man  to  hunt  for  her.  Ethically,  it 
works  out  beautifully,  for  each  partner  to  the  hymeneal 

219 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

bargain  is  fat  and  full  of  content,  happiness  fairly  oozing 
out  of  every  oily  pore.  And  is  not  happiness  the  goal  of 
human  endeavour,  whether  a  man  seeks  it  amid  the  electric 
lights,  subtle  perfumes,  and  dreamy  waltz-music  of  a  New 
York  ballroom,  or  finds  it  seated  with  his  community  wives 
on  a  hummock  of  ice  under  the  Aurora? 

I  wouldn't  like  to  picture  our  cousin  the  Eskimo  woman 
as  being  always  content  with  a  circulating  decimal  of  a 
husband  instead  of  a  whole  unit,  nor  would  such  present- 
ment be  just.  The  shield,  like  most  shields,  has  a  reverse. 
Last  winter,  at  the  Mackenzie  Delta,  one  Eskimo  bride  of 
seventeen  took  her  fourth  consecutive  husband.  She  is 
dark  but  comely,  but  truth  will  not  carry  the  analogy 
further.  I  have  yet  to  see  the  Eskimo  who  is  like  a  bunch 
of  camphire  in  the  vineyards  of  Engedi.  Three  winters 
ago,  at  Baillie  Island,  the  three-times-widowed  one  had 
both  her  feet  amputated  as  the  result  of  exposure  to  cold. 

In  the  latest  wedding,  the  one  that  came  under  our  notice 
(we  hesitate  to  call  it  the  last),  the  much-sought  one  was 
given  away  by  her  brother-in-law  Su-pi-di-do,  or  Sour 
Potatoes.  The  wedding  breakfast  consisted  of  seal-meat, 
frozen  rotten  fish,  and  muktuk  (whale-meat).  The  cere- 
mony took  place  at  the  igloo  of  Su-pi-di-do,  with  fifty 
guests  present,  and  as  the  size  of  Su-pi-di-do's  bungalow 
is  ten  by  twelve,  one  needs  only  suggest  what  the  old  hymn 
speaks  of  as  "odours  of  Edom  and  offerings  Divine." 

The  festivities  began  to  warm  up  about  midnight.  An 
old  chap,  with  a  retrospective  look  in  his  left  eye  peering 
back  through  eighty  midnight  suns  and  noonday  nights, 
set  the  ball  a-rolling  by  raising  his  hands  above  his  head 
and  hopping  about  in  the  middle-distance.  His  wife,  a 

220 


ARCTIC  RED  RIVER  AND  ITS  ESKIMO 

gay  old  girl  of  twice  his  age,  lilted  a  song,  and  the  guests 
joined  in  the  chorus;  line  by  line  in  a  minor  key  the  wed- 
ding song  was  sung,  the  air  being  confined  to  three  notes. 
After  each  line  came  the  chorus  twice  repeated, 

"Ai,  yea,  yae !     Yae,  yae,  ya — yae !" 

Dancing  was  kept  up  to  an  early  hour.  Overcome  by  the 
air,  respiratory  and  vocal,  we  made  our  adieus  to  the  crip- 
pled but  captivating  bride,  pushing  our  way  through  the 
ghostly  dogs  and  sleeping  babies  at  two  a.  m. 

By  natural  gifts  and  temperament  the  Eskimo  is  prob- 
ably the  most  admirable,  certainly  the  most  interesting, 
and  by  circumstances  the  most  misunderstood  and  misrep- 
resented of  all  the  native  races  of  America.  The  Eskimo 
of  any  one  group  would  seem  within  historic  times  to  have 
known  but  little  of  other  bands  than  his  own.  Yet  some- 
times they  met.  There  is  an  island,  called  Barter  Island, 
in  the  Arctic  at  the  dividing  line  between  Alaska  and  the 
Canadian  Yukon  Territory,  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
west  of  Herschel.  For  years  this  was  a  trading  rendez- 
vous for  four  peoples :  the  Kogmollycs  or  Mackenzie  Delta 
Eskimo,  the  Alaska  Eskimo,  and  the  Indians  and  Nunatal- 
mute  Eskimo  whose  habitat  lay  due  south  of  Barter  Island. 
To  this  point  the  Cape  Barrow  Eskimo  in  the  old  days 
brought  their  most  precious  medium  of  exchange, — a  pe- 
culiar blue  jade,  one  bead  of  which  was  worth  six  or  seven 
fox-skins.  And  thereby  hangs  a  tale.  Mineralogists  as- 
sure us  there  is  no  true  jade  in  North  America,  so  the 
blue  labret  ornamenting  the  lip  of  Roxi  must  have  come 
as  Roxi's  ancestors  came,  by  a  long  chain  of  exchanges 
from  Siberia  or  from  China. 

221 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

This  trading  tryst  at  Barter  Island  was  made  an  occa- 
sion of  joy  and  merriment.  In  imagination  we  see  the 
chiefs  in  their  kayaks,  the  old  men,  the  women,  and  the 
babies  in  the  slower  and  more  commodious  oomiaks,  mak- 
ing their  way  across  the  lonely  ocean  to  exchange  gifts  and 
courtesies  with  their  half-known  kin.  The  barter  consum- 
mated, these  Northland  voyageurs  had  their  yearly  dance 
and  sing-song  and  orgy  of  delight.  No  shooting  the 
chutes,  no  pop-corn,  no  pink  lemonade,  no  red-hots  nor 
"fr-resh  Virginia  peanuts,  1-large  sacks  and  well-f-filled 
and  f-five  a  bag !",  but  the  Arctic  concomitants  of  these,— 
boiled  beluga-skin,  luscious  strips  of  walrus-blubber,  and 
frozen  fish  that  smells  to  high  heaven.  Joy  is  the  same, 
gastronomic  and  aesthetic,  in  the  latitude  of  Boston  and  the 
latitude  of  Barter  Island.  It  is  only  the  counters  that  are 
different. 

Meagre  are  the  bits  of  knowledge  of  the  Eskimo  that 
have  floated  down  into  our  ken  through  the  ages;  on  the 
icy  edge  of  things  this  unique  and  fascinating  people 
worked  out  their  drama,  the  world  unknowing  by  the  world 
forgot.  The  white  men  who  reached  the  Eskimo  land 
from  the  south  were  discoverers  following  to  the  sea  the 
three  great  rivers  that  disembogue  into  the  Polar  Sea: 
the  Mackenzie,  Coppermine,  Back  or  Great  Fish.  The 
first  of  these  explorers  was  Samuel  Hearne  who,  in  1771, 
followed  the  Coppermine  to  the  Frozen  Ocean.  For  the 
northern  natives  their  first  contact  with  white  explorers 
was  a  disastrous  one,  for  at  Bloody  Falls  on  the  Copper- 
mine Hearne's  Indians  set  upon  the  only  band  of  Eskimo 
they  saw  and  almost  exterminated  them.  Sir  John  Frank- 
lin in  1820  was  more  happy.  He  says,  'The  Eskimo 

222 


ARCTIC  RED  RIVER  AND  ITS  ESKIMO 

danced  and  tossed  their  hands  in  the  air  to  signify  their 
desire  for  peace;  they  exhibited  no  hostile  intention;  our 
men  saluted  them  by  taking  off  their  hats  and  making 
bows."  Back,  who  explored  the  Back  or  Great  Fish  River 
in  1834,  has  this  tribute  of  respect  and  appreciation.  He 
says,  "I  called  out  'Tima'  (Peace),  and  putting  their  hands 
on  their  breasts  they  also  called  out  'Tima.'  I  adopted 
the  John  Bull  fashion  of  shaking  them  each  heart- 
ily by  the  hand;  patting  their  breasts,  I  conveyed  to 
them  that  the  white  man  and  the  Eskimo  were  very  good 
friends.  They  were  good  natured,  and  they  understood 
the  rights  of  property,  for  one  of  them  having  picked  up  a 
small  piece  of  pemmican  repeatedly  asked  my  permission 
before  he  would  eat  it." 

Through  all  these  years,  if  we  except  the  noble  devo- 
tion of  the  Moravian  missionaries  on  the  northeast  of 
Canada  and  the  splendid  Christianity  of  such  men  as 
Bishop  Bompas  who  sought  them  from  the  south,  no 
one  visited  the  Eskimo  from  the  outside  with  the  purpose 
of  doing  him  good,  but  rather  with  the  idea  of  exploit- 
ing him.  Yet,  from  the  days  of  Sir  John  Franklin  and 
Sir  Alexander  Mackenzie  to  the  recent  voyage  of  Amund- 
sen, the  spontaneous  tribute  of  every  man  who  has  met 
them,  talked  with  them,  and  received  their  hospitality  is 
the  same.  The  Eskimo  is  generous,  and  his  word  is  worth 
its  full  face  value.  What  we  have  done  for  the  Eskimo  is 
a  minus  quantity;  what  he  has  done  for  us  is  to  point 
a  splendid  moral  of  integrity,  manliness,  and  intrepid 
courage. 

Indians  beg  and  boast,  the  Eskimo  does  neither.  With 
no  formulated  religion  or  set  creed,  he  has  a  code  of  ethics 

223 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

which  forbids  him  to  turn  the  necessity  of  another  to  his 
own  advantage.  Amundsen's  farewell  to  his  Eskimo 
friends  sets  the  thoughtful  of  us  thinking,  "Goodbye,  my 
dear,  dear  friends.  My  best  wish  for  you  is  that  civilisa- 
tion may  never  reach  you." 

The  trite  saying  is  that  the  Loucheux  Indians  forced 
the  Eskimo  north,  "keeping  them  with  patient  faces  turned 
toward  the  Pole."  But  the  Eskimo  has  a  better  country 
than  the  Loucheux  has,  for  it  is  less  rigorous  and  it  pro- 
duces more  food  stuffs.  The  Loucheux  at  Fort  Macpher- 
son  knows  what  it  is  to  experience  a  temperature  of  60 
below  Fahr.,  while  at  the  coast  it  doesn't  drop  below  55. 

The  Eskimo  has  two  fields  in  which  to  hunt  food, — the 
land  and  the  sea,  with  fish  the  great  staple ;  and  both  fresh 
and  salt-water  fish  are  his,  that  in  the  mouths  of  the  great 
rivers  being  better  than  what  the  Loucheux  gets  higher 
up.  If  the  Eskimo  wrote  copy-book  lines,  the  most  insist- 
ent one  would  be,  "Lose  your  matches,  throw  away  your 
guns,  but  hang  on  to  your  fish-net." 

Through  the  years  there  was  bad  blood  and  mutual  dis- 
trust between  Eskimo  and  Loucheux.  The  last  pitched 
battle  occurred  in  the  6o's,  when  of  the  contestants  only 
two  Loucheux  escaped  and  not  one  Eskimo  was  killed. 
The  Hudson's  Bay  Company  officer  at  the  close  of  the 
fight  called  together  the  relatives  of  the  slain  Loucheux, 
upon  whom  rested  the  duty  of  revenge,  and  out  of  The 
Company's  stores  paid  in  trade-goods  the  blood-price  of  the 
slain.  Since  then  both  peoples  have  traded  at  Forts  Mac- 
pherson  and  Arctic  Red  River,  maintaining  a  sort  of 
armed  peace,  but  with  no  deeds  of  violence.  The  Louch- 
eux Indian,  his  wives,  his  babies,  and  his  slab-sided  dogs 

224 


ARCTIC  RED  RIVER  AND  ITS  ESKIMO 

suffer  from  starvation  almost  every  winter.  In  the  whole 
history  of  the  Eskimo  there  is  not  an  authenticated  story 
of  one  of  this  people  having  starved  to  death.  Once  more 
we  protest  against  misapplied  sympathy.  However  it  may 
have  been  in  the  past,  the  Eskimo  stays  on  the  coast  to-day 
because  it  is  to  him  "God's  country"  and  not  because  any 
hostile  Loucheux  sends  him  there. 

For  the  past  twenty  years  the  men  on  the  American 
ships  have  employed  the  Eskimo  to  aid  them  in  the  whaling 
industry,  picking  up  different  bands  all  the  way  from  Ber- 
ing Sea  eastward  as  they  sail  in  from  the  Pacific,  and 
depositing  each  group  at  their  individual  beaches  as  the 
ships  take  out  their  rich  spoils  of  baleen  and  oil  at  the 
close  of  the  season.  The  Eskimo  has  proven  a  valued 
aid  to  this  industry;  how  has  the  intrusion  of  the  whites 
into  his  ancestral  sea-domain  affected  the  Eskimo? 

Within  two  decades  the  European  population  of  this 
Mackenzie  River  delta  region  has  been  cut  down  from 
two  thousand  to  probably  one-fourth  of  that  number.  The 
causes?  White  men's  diseases:  scarlet  fever,  consump- 
tion, measles,  syphilis  must  account  for  most  of  the  star- 
tling decrease.  Scarletina  has  killed  many,  consumption 
some,  though  consumption  is  not  nearly  so  fatal  with  the 
Eskimo  as  with  the  Indian,  measles  perhaps  more  than  all. 
Measles  among  the  Eskimo  is  more  fatal  than  the  Bubonic 
plague  among  Europeans. 

What  other  changes  is  the  yearly  presence  of  American 
whalers  among  them  making  in  Eskimo  evolution  ?  Who 
shall  say?  It  is  so  easy  to  be  dogmatic,  so  hard  to  be  just. 
This  intrusion  of  the  whites  has  changed  the  whole  horizon 
here;  we  can  scarcely  call  it  the  coming  of  civilisation, 

225 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

but  call  it  rather  the  coming  of  commerce.  The  whalers 
have  taught  palates  once  satisfied  with  rotten  fish  and  blub- 
ber to  want  coffee  and  tea  and  molasses,  yeast-bread, 
whiskey,  and  canned  peaches.  To  the  credit  side  of  the 
account,  we  must  fairly  state  that  the  ships  have  brought 
the  Eskimo  whale-boats,  good  guns,  and  ammunition. 

The  Eskimo  population  of  the  Mackenzie  delta  is  be- 
coming mixed  by  marriages  between  the  different  tribes 
brought  together  to  work  on  the  whaling-ships.  Each  of 
these  intertribal  alliances  brings  about  its  changed  culture 
characteristics.  But  as  a  more  far-reaching  result  of  the 
coming  of  the  whalers  there  is  springing  up  on  the  edge 
of  the  Arctic  a  unique  colony  of  half-caste  Eskimo  children, 
having  Eskimo  mothers,  and,  for  "floating  fathers,"  mark- 
ing their  escutcheon  with  every  nationality  under  the  sun, 
— American,  Swedish,  Danish,  Norwegian,  Italian,  Portu- 
guese, Lascar.  This  state  of  things  startles  one,  as  all 
miscegenation  does,  and  this  particular  European-Eskimo 
alliance  is  different  from  all  others.  In  the  hinterland  of 
the  Arctic,  when  a  Frenchman  or  a  Scot  took  a  dusky 
bride  from  the  tepee  of  Cree  or  Chipewyan  it  was  with 
an  idea  of  making  the  marriage  a  permanent  one.  There 
is  no  intent  on  the  part  of  the  whalers  to  take  their  Eskimo 
"wives"  outside  with  them,  nor  does  the  wife  so-called  look 
for  this.  One  or  two  cases  are  on  record  where  the  half- 
breed  child  has  been  taken  "outside"  by  his  father  to  school, 
and  through  the  years  perhaps  six  or  eight  half-Eskimo 
kiddies  have  percolated  the  interior  waterways  south  to 
some  mission-school,  Anglican  or  Roman.  As  a  rule,  the 
marriage-contract  is  "good  for  this  season  only,"  and  the 
wife  and  children  bid  their  quondam  husband  and  father 

226 


ARCTIC  RED  RIVER  AND  ITS  ESKIMO 

farewell,  smiling  at  him  with  neither  animosity  nor  re- 
proach as  the  boats  go  out. 

What  is  then  the  ice-widow's  condition  ?  Is  she  an  out- 
cast among  her  people?  No,  you  must  remember  that 
neither  the  matrimonial  standard  of  Pall-Mall  nor  Wash- 
ington, D.  C,  obtains  here.  The  trade-ticker  of  the  erst- 
while wife  of  the  whaler  ticks  skyward  in  the  hymeneal 
Lloyd's;  she  is  much  sought  of  her  own  people.  Has  she 
not  gained  in  both  kudos  and  capital?  The  knowledge 
which  she  must  have  acquired  from  the  white  man  of  whal- 
ers' ways  of  trading  is  supposed  to  be  of  monetary  use  to 
her  second  lord.  Moreover,  the  tent,  utensils,  and  cooking- 
kit  which  she  shared  with  her  spouse  from  the  ships  makes 
a  substantial  dower  when  she  again  essays  Hymen's  lot- 
tery. 

Eskimo  women  are  neither  petulant  nor  morose.  With 
the  men  they  share  that  calm-bearing  of  distinction,  com- 
bined with  the  spontaneity  of  a  child  which  makes  such  a 
rare  and  winning  mixture.  In  moving  among  the  half- 
caste  Eskimo  children  up  here  on  the  edge  of  things,  fair- 
ness forces  us  to  admit  that  neither  in  stature  nor  physique 
do  they  fall  below  the  standard  of  the  thorough-bred  na- 
tives. About  the  morals,  the  ethical,  or  mental  standards, 
we  venture  no  comparison,  for  heredity  plays  such  strange 
tricks.  The  whole  condition  is  formative,  for  the  blending 
of  races  has  been  going  on  scarcely  long  enough  for  one 
to  see  and  tabulate  results.  The  influence  of  the  mother 
will  be  longer  applied  and  its  results  more  lasting  than 
that  of  the  evanescent  father,  and  in  this  is  their  hope. 
For  years  we  have  been  repeating  the  trite,  "The  sins  of 
the  father  are  visited  upon  the  children  to  the  third  and 

227 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

fourth  generation;"  it  remained  for  Charles  Dickens  to 
ask,  in  his  own  inimitable  way,  if  the  virtues  of  the  moth- 
ers do  not  occasionally  descend  in  direct  line. 

We  respect  the  Eskimo  for  many  things :  for  his  physi- 
cal courage  as  he  approaches  the  bear  in  single  combat, 
for  his  uncomplaining  endurance  of  hardships,  for  his 
unceasing  industry,  the  cleverness  of  his  handicraft,  his 
unsullied  integrity,  sunny  good-humour,  and  simple  dig- 
nity. But,  most  of  all,  he  claims  my  respect  for  the  way 
he  brings  up  his  children.  "A  babe  in  the  house  is  a  well- 
spring  of  pleasure,"  is  a  pretty  theory,  but  Charles  Lamb 
reminds  us  that  each  child  must  stand  on  his  own  footing 
as  an  individual,  and  be  liked  or  disliked  accordingly.  In 
the  igloo  and  the  tupik  the  child  has  his  own  accorded 
place  and  moves  in  and  out  of  the  home  and  about  his  occu- 
pations with  that  hard-to-describe  air  of  assuredness  that 
so  distinguishes  his  father  and  mother. 

The  Eskimo  child  accepts  himself  as  the  equal  of  any 
created  thing,  but  there  is  nothing  blatant  about  him,  nor 
is  his  independence  obtrusive.  He  is  born  hardy,  and 
lives  hardy,  trudging  along  on  the  march  in  his  place 
beside  the  grown-ups.  Each  Eskimo  man  and  woman  is 
an  independent  entity,  free  to  go  where  he  pleases.  There 
is  no  law,  no  tribunal,  no  power  to  limit  or  command  him, 
but  instinctively  he  observes  the  rule  of  doing  as  he  would 
be  done  by,  and  he  teaches  his  child  the  same  Golden  Rule. 
A  boy  or  girl  is  never  considered  an  encumbrance  and  is 
readily  even  eagerly  adopted  if  his  own  parents  die.  The 
Eskimo  child  is  ushered  into  the  earthly  arena  with  no 
flourish  of  trumpets,  for  his  coming  is  but  an  incident  of 
the  journey  if  Fate  has  decreed  that  he  should  be  born 

228 


ARCTIC  RED  RIVER  AND  ITS  ESKIMO 

when  the  family  is  on  the  march.  The  hour's  stop  for 
the  mid-day  meal  often  sees  a  new  little  valiant  soldier 
added  to  the  ranks  of  the  clan  and  starting  his  traverse 
of  Arctic  trails.  If  the  baby  is  born  while  the  family  is 
in  camp,  mother  and  babe  separate  themselves  from  the 
rest  of  the  family  for  a  month,  no  one  being  allowed  to 
look  at,  much  less  fuss  over,  the  little  stranger. 

Naming  an  Eskimo  baby  is  fraught  with  significance. 
If  the  last  grown  man  who  died  in  the  band  was  one 
revered,  one  whose  footsteps  are  worthy  to  be  followed, 
the  name  of  the  departed  clansman  is  given  to  the  newborn 
child.  The  belief  is  that  the  spirit  of  the  dead  man  hovers 
around  the  community  and  immediately  upon  the  birth  of 
the  child  takes  possession,  a  re-incarnation  in  the  baby- 
body.  Withdrawing  itself  in  twelve  months'  time,  the 
spirit  of  the  ghostly  god-father  lingers  by  to  influence  the 
character  and  destiny  of  the  growing  child. 

We  trace  a  well-known  nursery  rhyme  to  the  igloo  of 
the  Eskimo.  The  summer-born  baby  dispenses  with  cloth- 
ing for  the  first  six  months  of  its  earthly  pilgrimage, 
cuddling  its  little  bare  body  close  to  its  mother's  back 
under  her  artikki,  or  upper  garment,  which  has  been  made 
voluminous  to  accommodate  him.  But  the  husky  babe 
who  comes  when  King  Wenceslaus  looks  out  on  the  Feast 
of  Stephen  has  his  limbs  popped  into  a  bag  of  feathers  be- 
fore his  mother  takes  him  pick-a-back,  or  else  he  is  wrapped 
in  a  robe  of  rabbit-skin.  So  we  see  that  it  was  an  Eskimo 
mother  who  first  crooned  in  love  and  literalness, 

"By-o,   Baby   Bunting, 
Daddy's  gone  a-hunting, 
To  get  a  little  rabbit-skin, 
To  wrap  his  Baby   Bunting  in." 
229 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Mother-love  is  a  platform  upon  which  even  ancestral 
enemies  can  meet.  While  I  sat  cross-legged  (and,  like 
cotton,  absorbent)  last  summer  enjoying  the  hospitality 
of  the  Oo-vai-oo-aks,  to  us  entered  a  beautiful-faced  Lou- 
cheux  Indian  mother  with  a  pair  of  twins  pendant, — rol- 
licking chaps.  The  younger  Mrs.  Oo-vai-oo-ak  dropped 
on  the  floor  her  lord's  boot  which  she  had  been  dutifully 
biting  into  shape  and  jumped  up  to  greet  her  visitor. 
There  was  no  mistaking  that  smile  of  hospitality.  Snatch- 
ing from  the  visitor  one  of  her  baby  boys,  the  young  hostess 
kissed  and  cried  out  to  it  with  an  abandon  of  maternal 
joy,  the  culminating  point  of  which  was  feeding  it  from 
her  own  breast.  Thus,  in  one  instance  at  least,  has  the 
ancient  feud  of  Loucheux  and  Eskimo  died. 

A  baby  Eskimo  is  nursed  until  it  is  two  years  old  or 
older,  and  learns  to  smoke  and  to  walk  about  the  same  time. 
The  family  pipe  is  laid  upon  the  couch,  and  papa,  mamma, 
and  the  children  take  a  solacing  whiff  as  the  spirit  moves 
them.  These  pipes  are  identical  with  those  used  by  the 
Chinese,  and  hold  but  half  a  thimbleful  of  tobacco,  the 
smoke  being  inhaled  and  swallowed  with  dreamy  joy. 

The  hardihood  of  Eskimo  children  is  scarcely  believable. 
It  is  not  unusual  for  children  of  six  years  to  trudge  uncom- 
plainingly for  twenty-five  miles  by  the  side  of  their  elders ; 
and  we  came  to  know  a  little  seven-year  old  chap  who  was 
quite  a  duck-hunter,  and  who  went  out  every  day  alone 
and  seldom  came  back  without  at  least  two  brace.  At 
eleven  years,  with  his  watertight  boots,  spear  in  hand,  and 
coil  of  line  on  his  back,  he  takes  up  the  Innuit  man's 
burden,  and  does  it  with  an  air  both  determined  and 
debonair.  If  you  ask  a  mother  if  she  does  not  think  this 

230 


ARCTIC  RED  RIVER  AND  ITS  ESKIMO 

a  somewhat  tender  age  for  her  boy  to  essay  to  keep  up 
with  the  men  on  the  hunt,  she  merely  smiles  as  she  sews 
her  waterproof  seam,  and  says,  "The  First  Innuits  [Es- 
kimo] did  so." 

These  fur-clad  philosophers  are  perhaps  seen  at  their 
best  in  their  play,  for  there  is  always  harmony  in  the 
crystal  nursery  of  the  North,  as  these  little  people  have 
no  bad  names  nor  threatening  terms  in  their  vocabulary 
Yet  the  play  is  often  very  rough,  and  your  Eskimo  lad  is 
no  molly-coddle.  The  writer  watched  five  small  boys  play- 
ing football  with  a  walrus-bladder  among  the  roses  on  the 
edge  of  the  Arctic.  The  game  was  neither  Rugby  nor 
"Soccer,"  but  there  seemed  to  be  a  good  deal  of  tackling 
in  it.  Four  of  them  got  the  fifth  one,  who  hugged  the 
ball,  down,  and  were  sitting  on  him  and  digging  their 
skin  boots  into  the  soft  parts  of  his  anatomy.  "You're 
angry,  now,"  said  a  Major  of  the  Royal  Northwest 
Mounted  Police  who  was  looking  on.  "No,  sir,"  said  the 
under  dog,  with  difficulty  protruding  his  head,  "I  never 
get  mad  when  I  play." 

The  boys  have  a  sort  of  duel  which  they  have  copied 
from  their  elders.  It  is  customary  for  the  grown  men 
of  the  tribe  to  settle  accumulated  difficulties  by  standing  a 
selected  number  of  contestants,  say  four  on  each  side, 
facing  each  other.  Each  man  is  allowed  to  strike  his 
adversary  a  number  of  blows,  the  recipient  of  the  buffeting 
being  bound  by  the  laws  of  the  game  to  stand  quiescent 
and  take  what  is  coming  to  him.  Then  striker  and  strikee 
change  places  and  reverse  the  courtesy.  All  sorts  of  feel- 
ings come  into  your  throat  to  choke  you,  as  you  watch  a 
row  of  "heathen"  Eskimo  lads  carry  out  an  ungentle  joust 

231 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

of  this  kind,  for  the  blows  are  no  child's  play.  Think  of 
what  this  self-inflicted  discipline  means  in  the  way  of  char- 
acter-building, then  think  of  the  ignoble  tactics  that  obtain 
on  some  of  our  race-courses,  baseball  diamonds,  and 
"sport"  carnivals,  and  then  do  some  more  thinking.  A 
line  of  Tennyson  came  persistently  to  my  mind  last  sum- 


Farthest  North  Football 

mer  as  I  walked  in  and  out  among  the  camps  of  the  Eskimo, 
—"Self-reverence,  self-knowledge,  self-control." 

What  of  the  little  girls?  They  have  dolls  made  of 
reindeer  skins,  rude  imitations  of  their  elders.  And  they 
play  "house,"  and  "ladies,"  and  "visiting,"  just  as  their 
cousins  do  on  every  shore  of  the  Seven  Seas ;  but  no  little 
Eskimo  girl  has  ever  yet  had  the  pleasure  of  dressing  up 
in  her  mother's  long  dresses. 

232 


ARCTIC  RED  RIVER  AND  ITS  ESKIMO 

When  the  ptarmigan  gets  dark  in  feather  and  the  sun 
begins  to  return  in  spring  after  the  long  six  months'  night, 
it  is  the  pleased  prerogative  of  the  children  to  blow  out 
the  lamp  in  the  snow-house.  All  the  time  that  the  sun 
is  travelling  south,  clever  combinations  of  cat's-cradle  are 


Two    Spectators   at   the    Game 

played  by  the  mothers  and  the  children  to  entangle  the 
sun  in  the  meshes  and  so  prevent  its  being  entirely  lost 
by  continuing  south  and  south  and  forgetting  entirely  to 
turn  back  to  the  land  of  the  anxiously-waiting  Eskimo. 
The  boys,  by  playing  a  cup-and-ball  game,  help,  too,  to 
hasten  its  return.  When  the  sun  forgets  you  for  six 
months,  you  become  fearful  lest  you  have  lost  his  loving 
i?  233 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

care  forever.  The  spring  is  an  anxious  time  in  more 
ways  than  one,  for  if  there  is  any  suffering  from  hunger 
it  is  felt  now,  when  the  winter  supplies  are  finished  and 
the  new  hunts  not  yet  begun.  "I'll  eat  my  hat"  is  an 
empty  threat  in  the  south,  but  many  an  Eskimo  kiddie  has 
satisfied  the  gnawing  pains  of  spring  hunger  by  chewing 
his  little  skin  boots. 

At  the  Mackenzie  delta  last  year,  Roxi  the  Eskimo  came 
in  and  told  me  this  sad  story.  Six  weeks  before,  a  party 
of  Eskimo  had  left  Baillie  Island  with  dogs  for  Kopuk. 
On  their  way  they  found  a  dead  whale  and  cooked  and 
ate  of  it;  the  next  day  they  found  another  and  again  in- 
dulged. After  travelling  twenty-five  miles,  the  whole 
party  was  taken  violently  ill,  and  six  adults  and  two  chil- 
dren died,  leaving  only  one  little  girl  alive.  There  for 
three  days  and  four  nights  she  remained,  alone  in  the  camp 
of  the  dead,  until  by  the  merest  chance  a  young  Eskimo, 
attending  his  line  of  traps  from  Toker  Point,  stumbled 
into  the  silent  camp. 

One  can  faintly  glimpse  at,  but  must  utterly  fail  to  grasp, 
what  that  little  girlie  suffered  mentally.  We  picture  her 
sleeping,  sobbing,  waiting  in  that  snow-hut  in  the  silences, 
surrounded  by  the  still  bodies  of  every  one  she  loved  on 
earth.  The  sequel  of  the  story  is  as  sad  as  its  first  chapter. 
The  band  of  Eskimo  to  which  the  rescuer  belonged  went 
in  their  turn  and  ate  of  this  stranded  whale,  with  the  result 
that  A-von-tul  and  Ita-chi-uk,  two  youths  of  twenty  or 
twenty-one,  died,  too,  and  with  them  a  little  four-year-old 
girl.  The  drift  whale  must  have  been  poisoned  either  by 
ptomaine  or  by  the  remnants  of  the  highly  compressed 
tonite,  the  explosive  used  by  the  whale-hunters. 

234 


ARCTIC  RED  RIVER  AND  ITS  ESKIMO 

As  we  visit  in  friendly  wise  the  Eskimo  and  their  chil- 
dren, a  feeling  of  loving  admiration  and  appreciation 
tightens  round  our  hearts.  We  had  never  heard  a  harsh 
word  bestowed  upon  a  child,  no  impatient  or  angry  adtno- 


An  Eskimo  Exhibit 

A — Eskimo  woman's  head-dress  of    reindeer   skin. 

B Skin   of   the   baby   seal,    its   shimmering   whiteness   used   by   the  missionaries   to  typify 

the   Lamb  of  God,  the  word  "  Lamb  "  having  no  meaning  to  an   Eskimo. 
C — Ornamental  skin  mat,  the  work  of  an  Eskimo  woman. 
D_Ouiver   of   arrows   used   by   Eskimo   boys. 
E— Model  of   Eskimo  paddle. 

F— Skin   model  of  the  Oomiak  or  Eskimo  woman  s  boat.  . 

G  and  H— Eskimo  pipes  of  true  Oriental  type,  the  bowl  holding  only  half  a  thimbleful  of 

tobacco. 

nition.  If  a  boy  gives  way  to  bursts  of  temper,  and  this 
is  rare,  he  is  gently  taken  to  task,  reproved,  and  reasoned 
with  after  the  fit  of  passion  is  over.  Certainly,  without 
churches  or  teachers  or  schools,  with  no  educational  jour- 
nals, and  no  Conventions  of  Teachers,  with  their  wise 

235 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

papers  on  the  training  of  "the  child,"  the  Eskimo  children 
we  saw  were  better  behaved,  more  independent,  gentler, 
and  in  the  literal  sense  of  the  word,  more  truly  "educated" 
than  many  of  our  children  are.  Instinctively  you  feel  that 
here  are  boys  and  girls  being  trained  admirably  for  the 
duties  of  life,  a  life  that  must  be  lived  out  in  stern  condi- 
tions. 

Perchance,  floating  down  on  the  Aurora,  has  come  to 
the  Eskimo  a  glint  of  the  truth  that  has  passed  us  by,  the 
truth  that  God's  own  plan  is  the  family  plan,  that  there  are 
life  lessons  to  learn  which,  by  the  very  nature  of  things, 
the  parents  alone  can  impart.  Teaching  children  in  the 
mass  has  its  advantages,  but  it  is  the  family  after  all  and 
not  the  fifty  children  in  a  school  grade  which  forms  the 
unit  of  national  greatness. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

FORT   MACPHERSON   FOLK 

"I  have  drunk  the   Sea's  good  wine, 
Was  ever  step  so  light  as  mine, 
Was  ever  heart  so  gay? 

O,  thanks  to  thee,  great  Mother,  thanks  to  thee, 
For  this  old  joy  renewed, 
For  tightened  sinew  and  clear  blood  imbued 
With  sunlight  and  with  sea." 

— A  Pagan  Hymn. 

On  July  1 4th,  shortly  after  we  leave  Arctic  Red  River, 
an  open  scow  passes  us,  floating  northward  with  the 
stream.  It  comes  in  close  to  the  steamer,  and  we  look 
down  and  see  that  every  one  of  its  seven  occupants  is  sound 
asleep.  In  traversing  the  Mackenzie,  there  is  no  danger 
of  running  into  ferry-boats  or  river-locks,  if  you  strike  the 
soft  alluvial  banks  here  the  current  will  soon  free  you  and 
on  you  go.  The  voyagers  in  the  scow  may  sleep  in  peace. 

At  Point  Separation,  67°  37'  N.,  the  Mackenzie  delta 
begins.  Where  the  east  and  west  branches  diverge,  the 
width  of  the  river  is  fifty  miles,  the  channel  becoming  one 
maze  of  islands,  battures,  and  half-hidden  sand-bars.  The 
archipelago  at  the  Arctic  edge  extends  a  full  hundred  miles 
east  and  west. 

The  two  lob-sticks  at  Point  Separation  are  full  of  his- 
toric interest.  It  was  here,  on  the  evening  of  July  3rd, 
1826,  that  Sir  John  Franklin  and  Dr.  Richardson  parted, 

237 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Franklin  to  trend  west  and  Richardson  east,  in  their  mis- 
sion of  Arctic  coastal  exploration.  Twenty-two  years 
later,  Richardson,  this  time  concerned  with  the  Plover  Re- 
lief Expedition  of  the  lost  Franklin,  again  visited  Point 
Separation.  He  records, 

"July  3oth,  1848,  Point  Separation.  In  compliance  with  my 
instructions,  a  case  of  pemmican  was  buried  at  this  place.  We  dug 
a  pit  at  a  distance  of  ten  feet  from  the  best  grown  tree  on  the 
Point,  and  placed  in  it,  along  with  the  pemmican,  a  bottle  contain- 
ing a  memorandum  of  the  Expedition,  and  such  information  re- 
specting the  Company's  post  as  I  judged  would  be  useful  to  the 
boat  party  of  the  Plover  should  they  reach  this  river.  The  lower 
branches  of  the  tree  were  lopped  off,  a  part  of  its  trunk  denuded 
of  bark,  and  a  broad  arrow  painted  thereon  with  red  paint.  In 
performing  these  duties  at  this  place,  I  could  not  but  recall  to 
mind  the  evening  of  July  3rd,  1826,  passed  on  the  very  same 
spot  with  Sir  John  Franklin.  We  were  then  full  of  joyous  antic- 
ipation." 

As  we  look  at  these  enduring  lobsticks,  we  recollect  that 
Commander  Pullen,  with  two  boats  from  the  Plover  in 
1849,  visited  the  depot  and  found  the  precious  pemmican. 
We  leave  the  Mackenzie  proper  for  the  present  and  enter 
the  easternmost  channel  of  its  farthest  north  tributary,  the 
Peel,  and  follow  this  considerable  stream  thirty-three  miles 
to  Fort  Macpherson,  the  most  northerly  post  of  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  Company. 

Fort  Macpherson  has  a  striking  site.  To  the  east, 
spreads  a  rolling  wooded  plain  of  alluvial  origin,  contain- 
ing thousands  of  lakes.  The  west  aspect  gives  us  an  unin- 
terrupted view  of  the  wooded  valley  of  the  Peel,  backed  by 
a  heathery  slope  with  the  northern  Rockies  on  the  far  hori- 
zon. Due  north,  upstarts  a  peak  of  the  Rockies  known 

238 


FORT  MACPHERSON  FOLK 

locally  as  Black  Mountain — a  dark  barren  spur  two  thou- 
sand feet  in  height.     A  winter  trail  from  Macpherson  to 


Constable  Walker  and  Sergeant  Fitzgerald  in  Eskimo  Togs 

Arctic  Red  River  cuts  no  fewer  than  thirty-three  small 
lakes. 

On  the  beach  to  meet  us  are  Mounted  Police  and  Eskimo 
from  Herschel  Island,  Church  of  England  missionaries, 

239 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

traders  of  the  H.  B.  Co.,  and  Loucheux  Indians.  But  here, 
as  at  Arctic  Red  River,  it  is  that  Polar  gentleman  the  Es- 
kimo who  claims  our  attention.  Let  Sergeant  Fitzgerald, 
R.N.W.M.P.,  stationed  at  Herschel  Island,  speak  for  the 
Kogmollyc  and  Nunatalmute  Eskimo.  In  his  departmen- 
tal report  this  officer  states,  "I  have  found  these  natives 
honest  all  the  time  I  have  been  at  Herschel  Island.  I  never 
heard  of  a  case  of  stealing  among  them."  He  has  been 
there  five  years.  Up  here  on  the  Arctic  the  bare  word  of 
an  Eskimo  is  accepted  of  all  men.  If  he  states  to  an  H.  B. 
Co.  factor  that  he  has  an  order  from  a  whaling  captain  to 
get  certain  goods  for  himself,  that  unwritten  order  is  hon- 
oured though  it  may  date  back  two  or  even  three  years, 
whereas  an  order  presented  by  a  white  man  must  be  in 
writing  and  certified. 

Why  should  I  enter  the  lists  and  take  up  icy  spear  for 
my  Eskimo  fellow  British  subject?  Because  he  is  so  very 
worth  while.  Because  through  the  years  the  world  has 
conspired  to  libel  him.  Because  within  a  decade  or  two 
he  will  have  passed  utterly  off  the  map.  And  because  it 
is  so  very  much  pleasanter  to  write  appreciations  than 
epitaphs.  This  man  wins  you  at  once  by  his  frank  direct- 
ness; his  bearing  is  that  of  a  fearless  child.  The  Indian, 
like  Ossian's  hero,  scorns  to  tell  his  name,  and  on  occasion 
will  dodge  the  camera,  but  the  Eskimo  likes  to  be  photo- 
graphed. Young  and  old,  they  press  to  our  side  like 
friendly  boys  and  girls  round  a  "chummy"  teacher,  volun- 
teering information  of  age,  sex,  and  previous  condition, 
with  all  sorts  of  covetable  bits  of  intimate  family  history. 
You  love  the  Eskimo  because  he  is  kind  to  his  dogs  and 
gentle  to  little  children.  His  entire  willingness  to  take  you 

240 


FORT  MACPHERSON  FOLK 

on  credit  is  contagious,  trust  begets  trust  even  in  walrus 
latitudes. 

The  Mackenzie  River  Eskimo  is  a  clever  chap.  With 
no  school-teacher,  no  school,  no  modern  appliances,  he  does 
many  things  and  does  each  admirably.  He  is  a  hunter  by 
land  and  sea,  a  fearless  traveller,  a  furrier,  a  fisherman,  a 


Two  Wise  Ones 

carver,  a  metal-smith,  and  he  takes  in  every  task  the  pride 
of  a  master  mechanic, — "the  gods  see  everywhere."  The 
duties  of  the  man  and  the  woman  are  well-defined.  The 
head  of  the  Kogmollyc  household  is  the  blood-and-flesh- 
winner,  the  navigator  of  the  kayak,  the  driver  of  dogs.  It 
is  he  who  builds  the  houses  on  the  march,  and  when  occa- 
sion requires  he  does  not  consider  it  infra  dig.  to  get  the 

241 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

breakfast  or  mind  the  baby.  The  wife  dresses  the  skins, 
prepares  the  food,  makes  all  the  clothing,  and  the  lord  of 
the  igloo  demands  from  her  the  same  perfect  work  that  he 
turns  out  himself. 


A   Nunatalmute   Eskimo   Family 

When  an  Eskimo  wife  has  finished  making  her  spouse 
a  pair  of  waterproof  boots,  she  hands  them  to  him,  and  he 
blows  them  up.  If  there  is  one  little  pin-hole  and  the  air 
oozes  out,  he  throws  the  boots  back  to  her,  and  she  may 

242 


FORT  MACPHERSON  FOLK 

take  up  the  pedal  gauntlet  in  one  of  two  ways.  Either  she 
must  meekly  start  to  make  a  new  pair  of  boots  without 
murmuring  a  word,  or  leave  it  open  to  him  to  take  to  his 
bosom  another  conjugal,  bootmaker.  We  noticed  with  in- 
terest in  watching  this  little  tableau  that  there  was  no  re- 
crimination. No  word  was  spoken  on  either  side,  the  ex- 
acting husband  contenting  himself  with  blowing  up  the 
boots  and  not  the  wife. 

With  uncanny  fascination  we  watched  one  old  woman 
curry  a  sealskin.  Her  tongue  was  kept  busy  cleaning  the 
scraper,  while  her  mouth  was  a  repository  for  the  scrap- 
ings, which  went  first  there,  then  to  a  wooden  dish,  then  to 
the  waiting  circle  of  pop-eyed  dogs.  The  whole  perform- 
ance was  executed  with  a  precision  of  movement  that  held 
us  fascinated. 

If  a  white  woman  were  to  be  shipwrecked  and  thrown 
upon  an  Eskimo  foreshore  and  presenting  herself  at  a 
Husky  employment  bureau,  many  surprises  would  await 
her.  Instead  of  asking  for  references  from  her  last  em- 
ployer, the  genial  proprietor  would  first  ask  to  inspect  her 
teeth.  In  prosecuting  female  Eskimo  handicraft  your 
teeth  are  as  important  a  factor  as  your  hands.  The  re- 
porter for  the  funeral  column  of  an  Eskimo  daily,  writing 
the  obituary  of  a  good  wife,  instead  of  speaking  of  the  tired 
hands  seamed  by  labor  for  her  husband  and  little  ones, 
would  call  pathetic  attention  to,  "the  tired  and  patient  teeth 
worn  to  their  sockets  by  the  yearly  chewing  for  the  house- 
hold." A  young  wife's  cobbling  duty  does  not  end  with 
making  for  her  mate  boots  that  shall  be  utterly  waterproof, 
but  each  morning  she  must  arise  before  the  seagull  and 
chew  these  into  shape.  You  see,  after  the  boots  are  wet 

243 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

each  day  they  get  as  stiff  as  boards,  then  they  must  be 
lubricated  with  oil  and  chewed  into  shape.  We  watched 
Mrs.  Oo-vai-oo-ak  the  Younger  at  this  wifely  duty.  Tak- 
in°-  the  big  boot  up  in  her  well-shaped  hands,  incisively, 
quarter-inch  by  quarter-inch,  the  white  teeth  made  their 
way  round  the  borderland  between  upper  and  sole,  the  in- 
dentations looking  like  the  crisped  edges  on  the  rims  of 
the  pies  your  mother  used  to  make.  Solomon's  eulogy  of 
Mrs.  Oo-vai-oo-ak  corrected  to  the  latitude  of  70°  North 
would  read,  "She  seeketh  fish  and  the  liver  of  seals  and 
worketh  willingly  with  her  hands ;  she  riseth  also  while  it 
is  yet  night  and  cheweth  the  boots  of  her  household." 

Every  bit  of  Eskimo  skin-clothing  is  as  soft  and  pliable 
as  a  kid  glove.  The  effect  is  not  produced  without  patient 
labor,  and  again  the  teeth  of  the  woman  are  brought  into 
requisition.  The  raw  sealskins  or  hides  of  the  reindeer 
and  bear  are  staked  out  in  the  sun  with  the  skin-side  up 
and  dried  thoroughly.  Before  this  stiff  material  can  be 
worked  up  into  garments  it  must  be  made  pliable,  and  this 
is  done  by  systematically  chewing  the  fibres,  a  slow  and 
painstaking  task.  Creasing  the  hide  along  its  whole 
length,  the  women  take  it  in  their  hands  and  chew  their 
way  along  the  bend  from  one  end  of  the  skin  to  the  other, 
working  their  way  back  along  the  next  half-inch  line. 
Watching  them,  one  is  reminded  of  the  ploughman  driv- 
ing his  team  afield  up  one  furrow  and  down  the  other. 

It  falls  to  the  lot  of  the  woman,  too,  to  do  her  share  of 
boat-making.  The  men  deftly  fashion  the  frames  of  kayak 
and  oomiak,  using  in  their  construction  not  a  single  nail  or 
piece  of  iron,  but  fastening  the  wood  together  by  pegs  and 
thongs  of  skin.  Then  the  women  come  on  the  scene, 

244 


FORT  MACPHERSON  FOLK 

measure  the  frame,  and  sew  green  hides  of  the  proper 
shape  to  fit,  making  wonderful  overlapping  seams  that  are 
absolutely  watertight.  As  it  is  necessary  to  put  the  skin 
covering  on  while  the  hides  are  raw,  the  whole  job  has  to 
be  completed  at  one  sitting.  So  a  bee  is  held  of  the  women 
of  the  communal  camp. 

Where  did  the  Eskimo  get  his  versatile  ability?  Only 
the  walrus  knows.  The  whalers  have  inducted  the  Eskimo 
into  the  art  of  making  cribbage-boards.  They  use  for 


Cribbage-boards  of  Walrus  Tusks 

The  scenes  etched  in  the  larger  represent  the  events  of  one  year  of  the  carver. 

each  board  a  complete  tusk  of  walrus-ivory,  covering  the 
whole  with  a  wealth  of  descriptive  carvings  illustrative  of 
all  that  comes  into  the  yearly  round  of  an  Eskimo's  life,— 
ice-fishing,  bear-hunting,  walrus-sticking.  So  far  as  we 
could  find  out,  the  Husky's  connection  with  cribbage  ceased 
with  his  making  these  edition  de  luxe  boards.  He  seemed 
himself  to  have  gathered  no  inkling  of  the  fine  points  of 
that  game  which  one  instinctively  associates  with  Dick 
Swiveller  as  tutor  and  as  pupil  the  little  Marchioness,  "that 
very  extraordinary  person,  surrounded  by  mysteries,  ig- 

245 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

norant  of  the  taste  of  beer,  and  taking  a  limited  view  of 
society  through  the  key-holes  of  doors."  In  the  world 
outside,  far  from  igloos  and  ice-floes,  where  people  gather 
round  cheery  Christmas  fires  with  "one  for  his  nob,"  "two 
for  his  heels,"  and  "a  double  run  of  three,"  these  ivory  crib- 
boards  are  sold  for  from  seventy-five  to  one  hundred  dol- 
lars each.  We  have  two  among  our  most  treasured  tro- 
phies, and  with  them  an  ivory  ring  beautifully  formed 
which  we  saw  made.  Set  in  the  ring  is  a  blue  stone  of 
irregular  shape  which  was  fitted  into  its  ivory  niche  with 
a  nicety  of  workmanship  that  few  jewellers  could  attain. 
I  had  fashioned  for  me  also  a  gavel  in  the  shape  of  a  sleep- 
ing seal,  made  of  fossil  ivory  from  the  Little  Diomedes. 
The  contrast  of  the  weathered  brown  of  the  outside  of  the 
ivory  with  the  pure  white  of  the  inner  layers,  when  worked 
up  into  a  carved  design,  gives  the  effect  of  cameo  and  in- 
taglio combined. 

We  tasted  many  new  Eskimo  dishes.  When,  on  our  re- 
turn, we  confessed  that  the  brain  of  the  seal  served  here  is 
a  delicious  dish,  we  ran  against  the  sensibilities  of  refined 
natures.  But  why  is  it  cruder  to  enjoy  seal's  brains  a  la 
vinaigrette,  than  to  tickle  our  taste  with  brains  of  the 
frolicking  calf  ?  The  seal  furnished  a  more  equivocal  din- 
ner than  this,  nothing  less  than  entrails  au  nature!,  which 
our  hostess  draws  through  her  fingers  yard  by  yard  in  pure 
anticipative  delight,  each  guest  being  presented  with  two 
or  three  feet  of  the  ribbon-like  piece  de  resistance.  The 
scene  that  jumps  to  our  memory  as  we  watch  this  feast  of 
fat  things  is  connected  with  food-manipulations  in  Chi- 
cago. It  was  down  at  Armour's  in  the  stockyards  that  we 
had  seen  Polacks  and  Scandinavian  girls  preparing  in  the 

246 


FORT  MACPHERSON  FOLK 

succulent  sausage  a  comestible  that  bore  strange  family 
semblance  to  that  which  our  friends  are  now  eating  before 
us,  this  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out. 

Mr.  John  Firth,  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  here, 
gives  us  much  information  regarding  these  people  who  for 
thirty-seven  consecutive  years  have  traded  with  him.  The 
Kogmollycs  have  been  here  "from  the  beginning,"  the  Nu- 


Useful  Articles   Made  by  the  Eskimo 

A — Eskimo  soapstone  lamp  which  burns  seal-oil.     The  wick  is  of  reindeer  moss. 

B — Eskimo  knife  of   Stone   Age. 

C — Its    modern    successor,    fashioned    from    part    of    a    steel    saw,    with    handle    of    ivory. 

This  is  the  knife  used  by  the  women;   note  how  the  old  shape  is  retained. 
D — Eskimo    Tarn    O'Shanter.      The    band    is    of    loonskins,    the    cap    proper    being    carefully 

constructed   from   swans'    feet.     This  admirably  shows  the  cleverness  of  the   Eskimo 

in   adapting   natural    forms   to    economic   use,    each    foot   of   the   swan   being   a   true 

sector   of  a   circle. 
E — Old-time  stone  hatchet. 

F  and  G — Knives   filed   from   saw-blades,   with   bone   handles. 
II — Mortar   for  pulverising  tobacco  into  snuff. 
I — Needle  set  in  a  wood  handle,   and  by  rapid  rotary  motion  used  to   pierce  ivory. 

natalmutes  moving  into  this  region  in  1889,  driven  out 
of  their  hunting  grounds  inland  from  Kotzebue  Sound, 
Alaska,  by  a  scarcity  of  game.  The  two  tribes  live  in 
peace  and  intermarry.  The  aged  among  them  are  re- 
spected. Criminals  and  lunatics  are  quietly  removed  from 
the  drama.  Supposed  incurables  commit  suicide  and  in 

247 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

that  act  reach  immediately  a  hot  underground  heaven. 

Nature  to  these  Eskimo  is  especially  benign.  The  junc- 
tion of  the  Mackenzie  and  the  Peel  is  covered  with  a  forest 
of  spruce,  and  even  to  the  ocean-lip  we  trace  foot-prints  of 
moose  and  black  bear.  In  the  delta  are  cross,  red,  and 
silver  foxes,  mink  and  marten,  with  lynx  and  rabbits  ac- 
cording to  the  fortunes  of  war.  The  Eskimo  declare  that, 
east  of  Cape  Parry,  bears  are  so  numerous  that  from  ten 
to  twenty  are  seen  at  one  time  from  a  high  hilltop. 

The  Chauncey  Depew  of  the  Kogmollycs,  the  man  with 
the  best  stories  and  the  most  inimitable  way  of  telling  them, 
is  Roxi.  It  was  Roxi  who  gave  us  the  love  story  of  his 
cousin  the  Nuntalmute  Lochinvar.  This  young  man 
wooed  a  maid.  The  girl's  father  had  no  very  good  opin- 
ion of  the  lad's  hunting  ability  and  was  obdurate.  The 
lover  determined  to  take  destiny  into  his  own  hands.  A 
ravine  of  ice  stretched  between  his  igloo  and  that  of  the 
family  to  whom  he  would  fain  be  son,  and  over  the  chasm 
a  drift-log  formed  a  temporary  bridge.  Lothario,  one 
night,  crossed  the  icy  gully,  entered  the  igloo  of  his  elect, 
seized  her  in  her  shin-ig-bee  or  sleeping-bag  and  lifted  the 
dear  burden  over  his  back.  In  spite  of  struggles  and  muf- 
fled cries  from  within,  he  strode  off  with  her  to  his  side 
of  the  stream.  The  gulch  safely  crossed,  he  gaily  kicked 
the  log  bridge  into  the  gulf  and  bore  his  squirming  treasure 
to  his  own  igloo  floor.  He  had  left  his  seal-oil  lamp  burn- 
ing and  now  it  was  with  an  anticipative  chuckle  of  joy 
that  he  untied  the  drawstring.  We  end  the  story  where 
Roxi  did,  by  telling  that  the  figure  which  rolled  out  sput- 
tering from  the  shin-ig-bee  was  the  would-not-be  father- 
in-law  instead  of  the  would-be  bride ! 

248 


CHAPTER  XIV 

MORALIZING  UNDER  THE   MIDNIGHT  SUN 

"Into  this  Universe,  and  Why  not  knowing 
Nor  Whence,  like  Water  willy-nilly  flowing, 

And  out  of  it,  as  Wind  along  the  Waste, 
I  know  not  Whither,  willy-nilly  blowing." 

— The  Rubaiyat. 

The  Midnight  Sun !  The  sun  does  not  sink  to  the  hori- 
zon, but  pauses  for  a  moment  and  rises  again.  Dawn  and 
eventide  are  one.  The  manifestations  of  light  ever  since 
we  left  Athabasca  Landing  have  been  wonderful,  uplifting. 
The  supreme  marvel  of  the  Midnight  Sun  is  not  what  we 
see  but  what  we  feel.  Standing  at  this  outpost  of  Britain's 
Empire,  we  give  our  imagination  rein  and  see  waking 
worlds  and  cities  of  sleep.  As  this  red  sun  rises  from  its 
horizon-dip,  it  is  the  first  of  the  unnumbered  sunrises 
which,  as  hour  follows  hour,  will  come  to  the  continents. 

Longfellow  says: 

i 

'Think,  every  morning  where  the  sun  peeps  through 
The  dim,  leaf-latticed  windows  of  the  grove, 
How  jubilant  the  happy  birds  renew 
Their  old,  melodious  madrigals  of  love ! 
And  when  you  think  of  this,  remember  too 
'Tis  always  morning  somewhere,  and  above 
The  awakening  continents,  from  shore  to  shore, 
Somewhere  the  birds  are  singing  evermore." 

How  do  the  people  of  Macpherson  divide  into  day  and 
is  249 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

night  their  largesse  of  light?  By  common  consent  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning  seems  to  be  bedtime,  and  by  four  in 
the  afternoon  people  are  busying  themselves  with  break- 
fast. In  Polar  Circles,  do  as  the  Polars  do,  is  good  advice, 
and  we  follow  suit.  Individuality  is  strongly  marked  at 
this  metropolis  on  the  Peel.  Every  one  you  meet  is  a 
mine  of  interest,  and  sharp  contrasts  present  themselves. 
Mrs.  Macdonald  discusses  fur  and  deer-meat  with  Jack 


Home  of  Mrs.   Macdonald, 

Johnson.  He  is  a  trapper  who  plays  the  game  alone  and 
who  last  year  was  reduced  to  killing  his  favourite  dog  for 
food.  Current  report  credits  him  with  having  "killed  his 
man  in  the  Yukon."  Mrs.  Macdonald  is  a  Loucheux 
woman  who,  at  the  age  of  fourteen  or  fifteen,  married 
Archdeacon  Macdonald  of  the  English  Church  and  for 
eight  long  years  afterwards  assisted  him  in  his  life  work  of 
translating  the  Gospels  into  the  Loucheux  language.  She 
has  come  all  the  way  from  Winnipeg  to  the  Arctic  Circle 

250 


MORALIZING  UNDER  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN 

to  spend  the  summer  visiting  her  people.  We  lose  our 
hearts  to  her  two  sons,  splendid  fellows  both. 

It  is  the  Eskimo  who  brings  both  missionary  and  trader 
to  Fort  McPherson.  Are  these  Eskimo,  Christians  ?  Are 
they  civilised?  These  are  the  questions  that  confront  us 
when  we  speak  of  these  Farthest  North  Canadians.  It  is 
an  age  of  classification.  You  cannot  find  a  flower  nowa- 
days that  some  one  has  not  tacked  a  Latin  name  to,  and  it 
goes  by  inverse  ratio — the  smaller  the  flower  the  longer 
the  name.  Every  bird  you  hear  sing,  even  though  it  stop 
but  an  hour  to  rest  its  tired  pinion  on  its  northern  migra- 
tion, has  an  invisible  label  pinned  under  its  coat.  How 
can  a  man,  a  tribe,  a  people,  hope  to  escape  ?  In  the  north- 
east of  Canada  the  Eskimo  is  a  disciple  of  the  Moravian 
missionary.  In  Alaska,  on  the  extreme  northwest  of  the 
continent,  the  Greek  Church  takes  him  to  its  bosom.  In 
between  these  two  come  the  people  we  are  studying.  The 
Episcopalians  through  the  years  have  made  some  sporadic 
attempt  to  influence  these  people,  but  so  far  as  I  know  these 
Eskimo  are  not  Episcopalians.  What  then  must  we  call 
these  splendid  fellows  so  full  of  integrity  and  honour, 
whose  every  impulse  is  a  generous  one  ?  Heathens  ?  The 
question  sets  us  thinking. 

The  Century  Dictionary  defines  a  heathen  as  "Any  ir- 
religious, rude,  barbarous  or  unthinking  class  or  person." 
This  Eskimo  is  not  "irreligious,"  for  he  has  a  well-formed 
conception  of  a  Great  Spirit  and  an  Evil  One,  he  looks  to  a 
place  of  reward  or  punishment  after  death,  and  he  accedes 
to  Kipling's  line  without  ever  having  heard  it,—  "They  that 
are  good  shall  be  happy."  He  is  not  "rude,"  but  exceed- 
ingly courteous,  with  a  delicacy  of  feeling  that  is  rare  in 

251 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

any  latitude.  "Unthinking"  he  certainly  is  not.  Six 
months'  darkness  within  the  igloo  gives  him  the  same  en- 
viable opportunity  of  thinking  that  the  shoemaker  has  in 
his  stall,  and  the  whole  world  knows  that  the  sequestrated 
cobbler  is  your  true  philosopher. 

There  remains  but  the  one  ear-mark,  "barbarous."  The 
dictionary  declares  that  barbarous  means,  "not  classical  or 
pure,"  "showing  ignorance  of  arts  and  civilisation."  On 
the  first  of  these  indictments  our  poor  Kogmollyc  must  fall 
down,  for  he  is  not  classical.  And  what  man  dare  pro- 
nounce on  the  purity  of  another?  Then  we  come  to  "arts" 
and  "civilisation."  In  arts,  this  Eskimo  can  give  cards 
and  spades  to  every  European  who  has  visited  him.  The 
stumbling-block  in  this  honest  search  for  a  tag  to  put  on 
my  people  is  the  term  "civilisation."  One  is  reminded 
of  the  utterance  of  the  Member  of  the  British  House  of 
Commons:  "Orthodoxy  is  my  doxy,  heterodoxy  is  the 
other  man's  doxy."  Was  it  not  Lowell  who  at  a  Harvard 
anniversary  said,  "I  am  conscious  that  life  has  been  trying 
to  civilise  me  for  now  seventy  years  with  what  seems  to 
me  very  inadequate  results"? 

If  "Christianity"  with  the  Eskimo  means  taking  him 
into  the  white  man's  church,  and  "civilising"  means  bring- 
ing him  into  close  contact  with  white  men's  lives,  then  he 
has  not  yet  attained  the  first,  and  has  but  little  to  thank 
the  second  for.  Two  years  ago  eighty  of  these  people  in 
one  tribe  died  of  measles,  a  white  man's  disease.  A  stray 
chaplain  wandered  into  an  encampment  of  Eskimo,  finding 
his  way  from  a  whaling  ship.  He  told  the  people  of 
Heaven,  its  golden  streets,  pearly  gates,  and  harp-songs, 
and  it  meant  nothing  to  these  children  of  frost.  They  were 

252 


MORALIZING  UNDER  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN 

not  interested.  Then  he  changed  his  theme,  and  spoke  of 
Hell  with  its  everlasting  fires  that  needed  no  replenishing. 
"Where  is  it  ?  Tell  us,  that  we  may  go !"  and  little  and  big 
they  clambered  over  him,  eager  for  details. 

Prayer  as  presented  by  the  white  man  is  recognised  as 
an  incantation  which  should  bring  immediate  and  literal 
results.  An  enquiring  scientist  was  seated  one  day  with 
Oo-vai-oo-ak,  the  two  fishing  through  adjacent  air-holes 
in  the  ice.  Calling  across  to  the  white  man,  Oo-vai-oo-ak 
said,  "How  is  it,  brother,  have  you  any  fish?" 

"No,"  replied  the  man  of  letters,  "I  have  taken  noth- 


"Have you  spoken  to  God  this  morning?"  asked  the  Es- 
kimo in  a  business-like  tone. 

"No,"  said  the  wilted  Walton. 

"Well,  that's  what's  the  matter,"  returned  Oo-vai- 
oo-ak;  "I  always  speak  to  God  every  morning  before  I  go 
fishing.  Once,  when  I  went  to  Herschel  Island,  a  mis- 
sionary told  me  what  to  say.  It  always  works.  I  have 
many  fish." 

The  scientist,  interested,  queried,  "And  do  you  do  the 
same  when  you  go  duck-hunting  or  goose-hunting  or  when 
you  are  after  seal?" 

"No,"  eagerly  responded  Oo-vai-oo-ak,  dropping  his  line 
and  pressing  close  to  the  geologist,  "Is  there  a  prayer  for 
duck,  and  for  geese,  and  one  for  seal?  The  missionary 
never  told  me  that.  You  teach  it  to  me,  eh?  I  like  to 
make  sure  what  to  say  to  catch  that  fellow, — goose  and 
seal." 

But,  unfortunately  for  both,  the  university  man  did  not 
have  the  charm. 

253 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Broadly  speaking,  the  Eskimo's  theory  of  things,  evolved 
from  white  spirits  on  the  ice-floes  or  carried  across  in  the 
age  of  the  mastodon  from  sires  and  grandsires  in  Asia, 
does  not  differ  materially  from  our  own.  There  is  a  Good 
Spirit,  called  by  different  tribes  Cood-la-pom-e-o,  Kelliga- 
buk,  or  Sidne,  who  dwells  high  in  the  zenith,  and  to  whom 
it  is  good  to  pray.  There  is  an  Evil  Spirit,  Atti,  sym- 


Eskimo  Kayaks  at  the  Arctic  Edge 

bolising  cold  and  death.  Their  heaven  is  a  warm  under- 
world reached  by  entrances  from  the  sea.  Hell  is  a  far, 
white,  dreary  plain.  The  Eskimo  pray  to  Sidne;  but  it  is 
wise  to  propitiate  Atti  or  Tornarsuk,  and  in  this  last  idea 
they  but  follow  their  Chinese  or  Tartar  ancestors.  In 
common  with  all  nations,  the  Kogmollycs  have  a  tradi- 
tion of  the  flood.  Mrs.  Oo-vai-oo-ak  the  Elder  said, 
"This  world  once  covered  with  the  sea."  Asked  why  she 

254 


MORALIZING  UNDER  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN- 

thought  so,  she  replied,  "You  have  been  down  to  the  land 
of  the  caribou,  eh  ?  Little  smooth  stones  from  the  sea  are 
there,  and  shells." 

The  labrets  or  lip-ornaments,  shirt-stud  shaped  effects 
worn  in  holes  pierced  in  the  cheek,  strike  us  with  interest. 
Is  it  too  daring  a  conjecture  to  trace  in  these,  which  Eskimo 
men  so  sedulously  cherish  and  resolutely  refuse  to  talk 
about,  a  religious  significance?  The  term  "Kelh'gabuk" 
in  a  literal  translation  means  "Mastodon."  This  animal, 
whose  bones  not  infrequently  are  unearthed  from  ice-floes, 
has  been  for  all  time  venerated  as  a  god  of  the  hunting 
grounds.  Is  it  too  fanciful  to  suggest  that  the  labrets  are 
a  sort  of  peripatetic  idol  carried  around  on  the  person  as  an 
imitation  of  the  tusks  of  this  God-Mammoth? 

East  and  south  of  the  Mackenzie  delta  the  Eskimo  tell 
of  a  Supreme  Goddess,  Nuliayok,  who  was  once  a  coy 
maiden  and  refused  to  marry  a  mortal.  Wooed  by  a  gull, 
she  accompanied  the  bird  to  an  inland  home,  to  find  instead 
of  her  dreams  of  delight  a  nest  of  sticks  and  rotten  fish 
on  a  high-hung  ledge.  Jostled  by  the  other  fulmars,  or 
gulls,  who  tried  to  push  her  off  the  rocks,  she  sent  for  her 
father.  In  the  night-time  he  came  and  sailed  with  her  over 
the  water  in  an  oomiak.  The  deserted  fulmar-bridegroom, 
taking  a  leaf  out  of  Prosperous  book,  raised  a  storm.  The 
father,  to  lighten  the  craft  and  propitiate  the  storm-spirit 
at  the  same  time,  threw  the  poor  bride  over-board,  and 
cut  off  her  fingers  as  she  clung  to  the  boat.  As  the  four 
fingers  dropped  into  the  sea  they  changed  respectively  into 
beluga  the  white  whale,  nutchook  the  common  seal,  oog- 
zook  the  big  seal,  and  ibyl  the  walrus.  After  vthus  giving 
origin  to  the  four  great  sea-friends  of  the  Innuit,  the  God- 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

dess  Nuliayok  let  go  the  boat  and  went  to  the  world  be- 
neath the  sea,  where  she  now  lives  in  a  whalebone  house 
with  a  dog  for  husband.  She  cannot  stand  erect,  but 
hunches  over  the  ground,  holding  one  foot  under  her  as  a 
baby  does  who  has  not  yet  learned  to  walk. 

It  is  to  Nuliayok  that  the  spirits  of  sea-animals  go  after 
staying  three  days  by  their  dead  bodies;  and  this  is  the 
reason  why  the  Eskimo  breaks  the  eyes  of  a  killed  seal. 
He  does  not  want  it  to  witness  the  indignity  of  seeing  its 
own  body  denuded  of  its  skin.  This  too  is  the  raison  d'etre 
of  the  ceremonies  which  every  Eskimo  punctiliously  per- 
forms in  connection  with  the  animal  he  kills.  Each  ani- 
mal has  a  soul  or  spirit  to  be  offended  or  placated;  if 
pleased,  the  spirit  of  the  dead  animal  communicates  with 
its  living  kin,  who  in  turn  will  deem  it  an  honour  to  be  killed 
by  such  considerate  folk  as  the  ceremonious  Innuit. 
Round  the  igloo  fire  we  heard  another  tradition  of  Nulia- 
yok. The  Goddess  of  the  Sea  once  gave  birth  to  a  litter 
of  white  and  red  puppies.  These  she  put  into  two  little 
water-tight  baby-boots  and  set  them  floating  before  a  north 
wind.  The  puppies  landed  on  southern  shores  and  be- 
came the  white  race  and  the  red  race,  the  Europeans  and 
the  Indians.  The  Innuit,  of  course,  had  lived  from  the 
beginning. 

We  arrogate  to  ourselves  the  term  of  "white  race,"  but 
if  these  Eskimo  were  to  wash  themselves  daily  (which  they 
do  not  do  yearly)  they  would  be  as  white  as  we  are.  They 
have  fleshy  intelligent  faces  and  eyes  with  more  than  a 
suggestion  of  the  almond-slant  of  the  Oriental.  The  idea 
occurs  to  us  that  the  full  appearance  of  the  cheeks  of  the 
women  is  more  likely  to  be  caused  by  the  exercise  of  chew- 

256 


MORALIZING  UNDER  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN 

ing  skins  and  boots  than  by  an  accumulation  of  fatty  tissue. 
The  men  are  distinguished  by  the  thin,  straggling  growth 
of  beard  and  moustache  which  adorns  their  Asiatic  pro- 
genitors. The  labrets  of  the  men  are  offset  by  the  long 
pendant  earrings  of  the  women,  which  are  made  from  H. 
B.  Co.  beads  and  shells  brought  by  Alaska  Indians  from 
the  Pacific.  It  is  only  the  women  who  here  tattoo  their 
faces,  the  three  long  stripes  extending  from  lower  lip  to 
the  chin.  The  men  crop  their  hair  in  the  style  of  the  ton- 
sure of  the  monk.  Neither  man  nor  woman  provides  any 
head  covering  except  the  hood  of  the  artikki  or  smock, 
which  hood,  fringed  with  waving  hair  of  the  carcajou  or 
wolverine,  hangs  loosely  at  the  back  until  called  into  re- 
quisition by  a  winter's  storm  or  a  summer's  siege  of  mos- 
quitoes. 

Eskimo  clothing  is  much  lighter  in  weight  than  it  seems, 
and  this  is  one  reason  why  the  Eskimo  attaches  of  every 
Arctic  expedition  have  moved  around  with  less  exhaustion 
than  their  European  or  American  leaders.  A  well-made 
Eskimo  outfit  of  inner  and  outer  suits,  with  mittens,  socks, 
and  boots,  weighs  about  thirteen  pounds,  while  one  im- 
ported fur  coat  of  European  deerskin  will  alone  weigh  more 
than  that. 

A  custom  noted  at  the  afternoon  whale-meets  and  pink- 
teas  might  fittingly  find  way  into  the  latitudes  where  nar- 
row toes  and  French  heels  obtain.  Two  ingenious  young 
Kogmollyc  belles  had  placed  applique  pockets  mid-leg  on 
their  lower  garments.  When  the  walrus  was  passed 
round  and  conversation  became  general,  the  boots  were 
slipped  off  quietly  and  one  foot  at  a  time  was  thrust  for  a 
resting  spell  into  the  pocket  provided  on  the  opposite 

257 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

trouser-leg.  This  act  of  easement  was  done  deftly,  and 
the  neat  action  of  instep  boot-jack  never  lost  its  fascination 
for  us. 


A  Wise  Man  of  the  Dog-Ribs 

All  the  way  from  boundary-line  to  ice-barrier  we  had 
seen  Indians  tricked  out  in  grotesque  garments  borrowed 
from  the  white  man  and  used  in  combination  with  their 

258 


MORALIZING  UNDER  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN 

own  tribal  covering  of  skins  and  furs.  These  sun-bonnets 
and  shepherd's-plaid  trousers,  silk  hats  and  red-flannel  pet- 
ticoats, the  trader  had  persuaded  the  child  of  the  woods  to 


A   Study  in   Expression 

buy.  The  debonair  Eskimo  is  a  re-incarnation  of  the 
bastard  brother  of  Aragon's  Prince,  and,  leaning  his  furry 
back  against  the  North  Pole,  says  with  him,  "I  smile  at  no 
man's  jests,  eat  when  I  have  stomach  and  wait  for  no  man's 
pleasure,  sleep  when  I  am  drowsy  and  tend  on  no  man's 

259 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

business,  laugh  when  I  am  merry  and  claw  no  man  in  his 
humour." 

You  cannot  induce  an  Eskimo  to  think  he  wants  any- 
thing just  because  you  have  found  that  thing  to  your 
liking.  There  are  two  reasons  for  this.  First,  long  ex- 
perience in  the  most  rigorous  climate  which  the  human 
race  inhabits  has  taught  this  man  what  garments  are  the 
most  suitable  for  him  in  which  to  live  and  move  and  have 
his  being.  Second,  although  the  Indian  may  ape  the  white 
man  as  a  superior  being  from  whom  eleemosynary  grub 
and  gew-gaws  may  be  wheedled,  the  Eskimo  of  the  Mack- 
enzie delta  considers  himself  to  be  the  superior  of  every 
created  being.  The  Eskimo  knows  what  he  wants;  he  is 
always  sure  of  it,  and  there  is  no  vacillating.  When  he 
comes  into  the  H.  B.  Company's  post  to  trade,  skins  are 
his  currency,  the  pelts  of  the  silver-fox  his  gold  coinage. 
A  good  silver,  or  black-fox  is  worth  here  about  one  hun- 
dred dollars  in  barter. 

We  saw  a  band  of  Nunatalmutes  come  into  Fort  Mac- 
pherson  to  do  their  summer  shopping.  They  wanted  Eng- 
lish breakfast  tea,  superior  rifles  and  ammunition,  and  a 
special  brand  of  tobacco.  Failing  any  or  all  of  these,  it 
was  in  vain  that  the  Factor  displayed  before  them  the 
wares  of  John  Bull,  Uncle  Sam,  or  Johnny  Canuck,  or  any 
seductive  lure  made  in  Germany.  Ig-ly-o-bok  and  Nan-a- 
sook-tok  bought  what  they  found  to  their  liking,  took  small 
change  out  of  two  silver-fox  skins,  and  put  the  remaining 
six  pelts  back  into  the  wooden  box  which  formed  at  once 
their  savings  bank  and  letter  of  credit  for  the  season  to 
come.  The  hungry-eyed  H.  B.  man  confided  to  us  that 
two  of  these  coveted  pelts  had  been  thus  exhibited  to  him 

260 


MORALIZING  UNDER  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN 

and  thus  tucked  back  into  the  Eskimo  sinking-fund  for 
three  successive  seasons. 

As  regards  weapons,  we  found  Eskimo  hunters  in  the 
transition  stage.  The  old-time  spears,  four  feet  long  and 
tipped  with  ivory,  are  still  in  active  service.  The  bows, 
with  arrows  finished  in  copper,  flint,  and  bone,  have  been 
relegated  largely  to  the  boys,  while  Krag-Jorgensen,  Lee- 
Enfield,  and  other  high-power  guns  are  bought  from 
American  whalers.  The  fish-hooks  which  I  got  in  friendly 
barter  are  interesting  to  any  one  born  with  angling  blood 
in  his  veins.  Beautifully  fashioned  of  ivory,  copper,  bone, 
and  beads,  the  contrivance  is  a  sinker,  bait,  and  hook,  all 
in  one.  The  daily  baskets  procured  with  this  lure  incon- 
testably  proves  the  Husky  a  judicious  hooker. 

The  Eskimo  is  a  merger.  Father  Petitot  shows  us  the 
close  analogy  between  the  Kogmollyc  language  and  the 
tongues  of  eastern  Asiatic  tribes,  ancient  and  modern. 
This  Eskimo's  speech,  then,  gives  him  a  connection  with 
the  effete  East  (which  is  his  west),  while  enamelled  wash- 
basins, with  here  and  there  a  corrugated  wash-board, 
prove  that  slowly  but  surely  Canadian  culture  is  reaching 
him  from  the  south. 

With  two  modifications,  this  Eskimo  is  invariably  truth- 
ful. Like  the  Indians  to  the  south  of  him,  seeking  to  please 
you  by  answering  a  question  in  the  way  that  you  desire, 
he  will  at  times  tell  you  an  untruth,  for  it  seems  to  him 
discourteous  to  answer  your  question  other  than  in  the 
way  which  you  anticipate.  For  instance,  if  you  say  to 
Roxi,  "Wasn't  that  a  grey  goose  we  heard  overhead?" 
Roxi  will  readily  assent,  though  he  well  knows  it  to  have 
been  a  mallard  duck,  but  he  would  spare  your  ignorance. 

261 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Again,  it  is  Eskimo  etiquette  to  belittle  your  own  success 
in  hunting  and,  in  so  doing,  be  not  literally  truthful. 
When  we  place  this  delightful  trait  alongside  the  fish- 
stories  we  are  familiar  with,  who  would  seek  to  change  the 
heathen  ? 

Marriage  with  the  Eskimo  is  not  a  ceremony,  it  is  not 
even  the  taking  of  each  other  for  better  or  for  worse.  It 
is  an  easy  union  entered  upon  and  maintained  so  long  as 
both  parties  are  pleased.  This  arrangement  has  one  mani- 
fest advantage, — Eskimo  annals  tell  of  no  unhappy  mar- 
riages. When  unhappiness  comes  in  at  the  door  of  the  ig- 
loo, marriage  flies  out  of  the  chimney.  When  a  woman 
leaves  her  tentative  husband,  she  takes  herself  and  her  ba- 
bies back  to  the  paternal  topik,  and  no  odium  attaches. 
As  the  marriage  vows  melt  into  the  Arctic  air,  the  quon- 
dam husband  is  expected,  however,  to  play  the  game. 
Last  winter  a  young  Nunatalmute  and  his  sorry  spouse 
came  to  the  parting  of  the  ways.  She  asked  him  to  take 
her  back  to  Papa,  but  he  said,  "No.  You  may  go  to-mor- 
row if  you  wish,  but  I  am  ready  to  hunt  in  the  opposite 
direction,  and  I  hunt."  Off  to  the  chase  he  went  and  took 
the  family  auto,  i.  e.,  the  sled  and  dogs,  with  him.  The 
once-wife,  travelling  five  days  and  six  nights  by  the  fitful 
light  of  the  Aurora,  found  her  way  to  her  father,  for  the 
instinct  of  direction  is  unerring  in  these  people;  but  the 
ex-bride's  feet  became  badly  frozen.  Public  opinion  in 
this  case  was  strongly  roused  against  the  husband  and 
probably  if  there  had  been  a  tree  handy  he  would  have  been 
lynched.  This  would  have  been  the  first  lynching  re- 
corded in  Canada.  The  feeling  of  the  Eskimo  commu- 
nity was  that,  when  the  wife  announced  her  intention  of 

262 


MORALIZING  UNDER  THE  MIDNIGHT  SUN 

enforcing  a  divorce,  the  bounden  duty  of  the  husband  was 
either  to  drive  her  himself  in  proper  state  to  her  father's 
door  or  to  let  her  have  the  dogs. 

In  their  beliefs  in  the  great  powers  of  concentration  and 
in  re-incarnation  we  find  traces  in  the  Eskimo  of  those 
Theosophical  ancestors  of  theirs  far  off  on  Asian  shores. 
The  ceremonies  which  approximate  in  time  to  our  New 
Year's  Day  and  Christmas  show  the  importance  they  attach 
to  concentrated  thought.  Early  in  the  morning  of  what 
corresponds  to  our  New  Year's  Day,  two  young  men,  one 
of  them  grotesquely  dressed  in  women's  garments,  visit 
every  igloo  and  blow  out  each  seal-oil  lamp.  The  lights 
are  afterwards  renewed  from  a  freshly-kindled  fire.  The 
chief,  asked  the  meaning  of  the  ceremony,  replied,  "New 
light,  new  sun,"  showing  his  belief  that  the  sun  was  yearly 
renewed  at  this  time.  This  early  morning  visit  from  igloo 
to  igloo  reminds  us  of  the  "first-footing"  of  the  Scottish 
village.  The  mummery  of  wearing  the  fantastic  dress  of 
the  woman  points  back  to  the  old  Lord  of  Misrule. 

About  the  season  of  Christmas,  a  great  meeting  is  held 
in  the  igloo,  presided  over  by  the  Angekok  or  medicine- 
man, who  entreats  the  invisible  powers  for  good  fortune, 
immunity  from  storms,  and  a  plenitude  of  blubber  for  the 
ensuing  year.  This  invocation  is  followed  by  a  family 
feast.  Next  day  the  ceremonies  are  carried  on  out-of- 
doors,  where  all  from  oldest  to  youngest  form  a  ring- 
around-a-rosy.  In  the  centre  of  the  circle  is  set  a  crock 
of  water,  while  to  the  communal  feast  each  person  brings 
from  his  own  hut  a  piece  of  meat,  raw  preferred.  This 
meat  is  eaten  in  the  solemn  silence  of  a  communion,  each 
person  thinking  of  Sidne,  the  Good  Spirit,  and  wishing  for 

263 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

good.  The  oldest  member  of  the  tribe,  a  white-haired  man 
or  tottering  dame,  takes  up  a  sealskin  cup,  kept  for  this 
annual  ceremony,  dips  up  some  of  the  water  and  drinks  it, 
all  the  time  thinking  of  Sidne,  the  Good  Spirit,  while  the 
others  close  their  eyes  in  reverent  silence. 

Before  passing  the  cup  on  to  the  rest  of  the  company 
that  they  may  drink,  the  old  man  or  woman  states  aloud 
the  date  and  place  of  his  or  her  birth,  as  accurately  as  it 
can  be  remembered.  The  drinking  and  thinking  ceremony 
is  performed  by  all  in  succession,  down  to  the  last  naked 
baby  cuddling  in  its  mother's  artikki,  the  little  child  that 
cannot  yet  speak.  The  solemn  rite  is  brought  to  a  close 
by  the  tossing  of  presents  across  the  ring  from  one  to  the 
other,  the  theory  being  that,  as  they  generously  deal  with 
others,  so  Sidne  will  deal  with  them  in  the  coming  year. 
So  up  here  on  the  edge  of  things,  among  our  "uncivilised 
heathens,"  we  have  our  Christmas  presents  and  "Peace 
on  earth,  good  will  to  men." 


CHAPTER  XV 

MAINLY    CONCERNING   FOOD 
"Man  does  not  live  by  bread  alone." 

Exigencies  of  life  have  caused  the  Mackenzie  Eskimo  to 
formulate  on  vital  matters  an  unwritten  law  to  which  each 
gives  assent.  Succinctly  stated,  this  system  of  Northland 
jurisprudence  runs  thus:— 

(a)  Should  a  man,  inadvertently  or  by  malice  afore- 
thought, kill  another,  the  wife  and  children  of  the  man  so 
killed  remain  a  burden  on  the  murderer  so  long  as  he  or 
they  live. 

(b)  A  drift-log  found  is  treasure-trove,  and  belongs  to 
the  finder,  who  indicates  possession  by  placing  upon  it  a 
pipe,  mitten,  or  personal  trinket  of  some  kind.     Whalers, 
missionaries  and  Mounted  Police  are  a  unit  in  testifying 
that  precious  flotsam  of  this  kind  has  remained  four  or  five 
years  in  a  land  of  wood-scarcity  without  being  disturbed. 

(c)  No  one  must  eat  seal  and  walrus  on  the  same  day. 
Thus  a  check  is  given  to  luxuriousness  and  the  Eskimo  is 
self-prevented  from  falling  into  the  fate  which  overtook 
Rome. 

(d)  All  large  animals  killed  are  to  be  looked  upon  as 
common  property  of  the  tribe  and  not  as  a  personal  belong- 
ing of  the  man  who  kills  them.     Thus  here,  under  the 
Northern  Lights,  do  the  Farthest  North  subjects  of  the 
Seventh  Edward  work  out  in  deeds  the  dream  of  Sir 

19  265 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Thomas  More's  crescent-isle  of  Utopia  where  men  lived 
and  worked  as  brothers,  holding  all  things  in  common. 

The  Eskimo  realises  that  the  pleasure  of  life  is  in  pur- 
suit, not  in  acquisition.  Where  wants  are  many,  joys  are 
few ;  the  very  austerity  of  his  life  has  made  a  man  of  him. 
Laying  up  few  treasures  for  the  elements  to  corrupt,  ac- 
cumulating no  property  except  a  little,  a  very  little,  of  the 
kind  designated  by  Wemmick  as  "portable,"  he,  to  better 
and  saner  effect  than  any  man,  decreases  the  denominator 
of  his  wants  instead  of  increasing  the  numerator  of  his 
havings.  Surrounded  by  the  paleocrystic  ice,  the  genial 
current  of  his  soul  has  not  been  frozen  by  that  ice.  An 
Eskimo  family  accepts  life  with  a  smile  and,  in  the  faith 
of  little  children,  goes  on  its  way. 

An  old  Scot  once  prayed,  "O  Lord,  send  down  to  Thy 
worshippin'  people  at  this  time  the  savin'  grace  o'  contin- 
uance." Only  one  man  has  less  need  to  pray  that  prayer 
than  the  Scot  himself,  and  that  man  is  the  Eskimo.  The 
Indian  eats  and  sleeps  as  his  wife  works,  but  while  there 
is  spear-head  to  fashion  or  net  to  mend,  the  clever  hands 
of  the  Eskimo  are  never  idle.  Thrifty  as  a  Scot,  ingeni- 
ous as  a  Yankee,  every  bit  of  the  little  property  that  he 
has  is  well  kept.  You  find  around  this  igloo  no  broken 
sled-runner,  untrustworthy  fishing-gear,  nor  worn-out 
dog-harness.  Civilisation  has  nothing  to  teach  this  man 
concerning  clothing,  house-building,  or  Arctic  travel.  In- 
deed, one  may  hazard  the  opinion  that  the  ambitious  ex- 
plorer from  the  outside,  if  he  reach  the  Pole  at  all,  will 
reach  it  along  Eskimo  avenues  with  this  man  as  active 
ally  and  by  adopting  his  methods  of  coping  with  Northern 
conditions. 

266 


MAINLY  CONCERNING  FOOD 

On  account  of  the  malignity  of  nature,  it  is  rare  that  an 
Eskimo  attains  the  three  score  and  ten  Scriptural  years. 
Few,  indeed,  live  beyond  the  age  of  fifty-five  or  sixty.  If 
his  life  is  short,  it  is  happy.  This  pagan  has  grasped  a 
great  truth  that  his  Christian  brother  often  misses,  the 
truth  that  happiness  is  not  a  luxury,  but  the  highest  of  all 
virtues,  a  virtue  filling  the  life  where  it  originates  and 
spreading  over  every  life  it  touches. 

There  is  about  this  Mackenzie  Eskimo  a  certain  other- 
worldliness  which  we  insistently  feel  but  which  is  hard  to 
describe,  and  to  us  his  generosity  is  sometimes  embar- 
rassing. At  Peel  River  a  band  of  Kogmollycs  met  us,  car- 
rying on  board  pieces  of  their  ivory-carving.  One  man 
exhibited  a  watch-chain  containing  fifteen  links  and  a 
cross-bar,  all  carved  from  a  single  piece  of  ivory.  He 
wanted  thirty-five  dollars  or  the  equivalent  of  that  'for  his 
work,  saying  that  it  represented  the  leisure  hours  of  two 
months.  The  engineer  tried  to  make  him  lower  his  price, 
but  with  a  courteous  smile  he  shook  his  head,  and  the 
carving  was  dropped  back  into  artikki  recesses.  After- 
wards, with  the  air  of  a  shy  child,  the  clever  carver  came 
to  me  and  offered  me  the  chain  as  a  gift.  It  was  probably 
a  difficulty  of  articulation  rather  than  a  desire  to  be  scath- 
ing which  induced  this  man  subsequently  to  refer  to  the 
one  who  tried  to  beat  down  his  price  as  "the  cheap  en- 
gineer." 

Surprised  at  the  magnificent  physique  and  unusual 
height  of  this  little  group,  one  of  us  began  measuring  the 
chest  expansions,  length  of  limbs,  and  width  of  shoulders 
of  the  men  and  women  we  were  talking  with,  while  the 
other  of  us  jotted  the  figures  down  in  a  note-book.  Many 

267 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

of  the  men  were  over  six  feet  tall,  and  none  that  we  meas- 
ured was  under  five  feet  nine  inches.  One  young  giant, 
Emmie-ray,  was  much  interested  in  our  researches.  The 
whalers  call  him  "Set-'em-Up,"  for  his  name  bears  the 
convivial  translation,  "Give  us  a  drink."  "You  going  to 
make  better  man,  you  get  Outside — make  him  like  Emmie- 
ray?"  As  Emmie-ray  pursues  the  tenour  of  his  Arctic 
way,  hunting  the  walrus,  standing,  a  frozen  statue,  with 
uplifted  spear  over  the  breathing-hole  of  the  seal,  to  the 
end  of  the  chapter  he  will  think  of  himself  as  being  used 
for  a  stimulating  Delineator-pattern  in  the  igloo  of  the 
white  man. 

Forty  years  ago,  when  Bishop  Bompas  came  across  a 
band  of  these  people,  instead  of  being  awed  at  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  white  man,  they  took  him  for  a  son  of  Cain ! 
Their  tradition  was  that,  in  the  early  history  of  the  world, 
an  Eskimo  murdered  his  brother  and  fled  to  the  inhospita- 
ble parts  of  the  earth.  The  bishop,  coming  to  them  from 
the  unknown  south,  must  be  a  direct  descendant  of  the 
outlaw,  with  his  hands  red  with  a  brother's  blood. 

Circling  the  ocean-edge  from  Siberia,  without  doubt  this 
people  came  originally  from  Asia,  as  the  Chipewyans  did 
before  them  and  the  Crees  before  that,  the  more  newly 
arrived  in  each  case  pressing  their  predecessors  farther 
away  from  the  food-yielding  ocean.  The  Anglo-Saxon 
estimates  all  habitable  land  by  his  ell-measure,  fertility  of 
the  soil,  its  ability  to  yield  turnips,  potatoes,  and  flax,  and 
forty-bushel  wheat.  The  measure  of  desirability  of  range 
of  northern  tribes  has  another  unit — blood,  and  flesh,  and 
fish.  Your  Eskimo  and  Chipewyan  and  Cree  cares  not  a 
potato-skin  for  your  waving  fields  of  grain,  your  apple- 

268 


MAINLY  CONCERNING  FOOD 

orchards  and  grape-vines.  What  he  is  after  is  blood  and 
blubber  and  good  dripping  flesh;  these  his  soul  craves  in 
the  night  season.  These  peoples  who  made  their  way  into 
the  continent  by  the  open  door  at  the  north  have  come 
down  through  the  years  toward  the  habitat  of  the  white 
man,  not  because  they  loved  him,  but  because  a  stronger 
tribe  has  pushed  them  back  from  Arctic  flesh-pots. 

At  the  Mackenzie  mouth  we  enjoyed  the  companionship 
of  that  courteous  Eskimo  gentleman,  Roxi,  and  heard 
the  story  of  his  last  winter's  larder,  but  not  from  his  lips. 
At  the  beginning  of  the  season  Roxi  had  whale-meat  and 
fresh  walrus,  and'  also  flour  that  he  had  earned  from  the 
whalers.  In  a  characteristic  burst  of  generosity  he  gave 
the  greater  part  of  this  to  needy  members  of  other  tribes 
who  had  had  poor  hunts  and  who  found  themselves  at  the 
beginning  of  the  Long  Night  with  empty  Mother  Hub- 
bard  cupboards.  The  Eskimo  winter  has  many  meal- 
times, and  Roxi  had  but  a  poor  idea  of  the  higher  mathe- 
matics. Long  ere  the  darkness  of  the  Great  Night  relaxed 
its  overbearing  blackness  Roxi  got  very  hungry,  and  he 
had  no  food.  Life  is  dear,  even  on  the  edge  of  things.  So 
into  the  silence  Roxi  crept  and  dug  down  through  the  ice 
and  frozen  sand  to  the  skeleton  of  a  stranded  whale  killed 
three  years  before.  All  the  sustaining  flesh  had  been  eaten 
from  it  more  than  a  year  ago,  but  the  dried  tendons  were 
still  there.  By  chewing  these  assiduously  and  picking 
bones  already  bare,  this  generous  soul  kept  life  in  his  body. 
As  I  heard  the  story,  the  last  words  of  the  gallant  Sidney 
dying  in  agony  on  Zutphen's  field  that  another's  thirst 
might  be  quenched  came  across  the  ocean  from  another  age 
and  a  far  land,  "Thy  necessity  is  greater  than  mine." 

269 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Britain's  heroes,  men  of  the  finest  mould,  manifest  on  the 
shores  of  many  seas. 

Inherited  tastes  in  foods,  like  inherited  creeds,  are 
mainly  a  matter  of  geography,  or  of  history,  or  of  both. 
An  Englishman  had  preceded  us  to  the  Arctic,  going  in 
in  1907,  and  the  story  of  his  food  discrimination  still  lives 
in  tepee  of  the  Cree  and  Eskimo  topik.  The  North  is  full 
of  rivers,  the  cold  bottle  is  always  at  your  disposal,  and 
generally,  if  you  are  any  shot  at  all,  you  can  get  the  hot 
bird.  But  this  son  of  a  thousand  earls,  or  of  something 
else,  wouldn't  eat  owl  when  owl  was  served,  though  he 
would  eat  crow.  Now,  eating  crow  is  to  most  a  distaste- 
ful task,  and  the  guides  questioned  the  Englishman  regard- 
ing the  gastronomic  line  he  drew.  "Aw !"  replied  he,  "No 
fellow  eats  owl,  you  know.  Never  heard  of  the  bweastly 
bird  at  home,  but  crow  ought  to  go  all  right.  The  crow's 
a  kind  of  rook,  you  know,  and  every  fellow  eats  rook- 
pie." 

Having  put  the  seal's  body  into  his  own  body  and  then 
encasing  his  skin  in  the  seal's,  the  cheery  Eskimo  strides 
the  strand,  a  veritable  compensation-pendulum.  The  seal 
is  so  much  an  integral  part  of  this  people  that  if  a  geologist 
were  to  freeze  a  typical  Eskimo  and  saw  him  through  to 
get  a  cross-section  he  would  have  in  the  concentric  strata 
a  hybrid  of  Husky  and  seal.  Holding  up  his  transverse 
section  under  the  light  of  the  Aurora,  the  investigator 
would  discover  an  Arctic  roly-poly  pudding  with,  instead 
of  fruit  and  flour,  a  layer  first  of  all  of  seal,  then  biped,  seal 
in  the  centre,  then  biped,  and  seal  again.  This  jam-tart 
combination  is  very  self-sustaining  and  enduring.  De- 
prived of  food  for  three  days  at  a  stretch  the  Eskimo  lives 

270 


MAINLY  CONCERNING  FOOD 

luxuriously  on  his  own  rounded  body,  as  a  camel  on  his 
hump. 

Reading  an  Arctic  bill-of-fare  in  southern  latitudes  may 
give  one  a  feeling  of  disgust  and  nausea,  for  it  is  all  so 
"bluggy."  You  feel  differently  about  it  at  70°  North. 
You  put  prejudice  far  from  you,  comfort  yourself  with  the 
reflection  that  raw  oysters,  lively  cheese,  and  high  game 
are  acquired  tastes,  and  approach  the  Arctic  menu  with 
mind  and  stomach  open  to  conviction.  It  is  all  a  matter 
of  adjustment.  Because  raw  rotten  fish  is  not  eaten  in 
Boston  or  in  Berkeley  Square  there  is  no  reason  why  it 
should  not  be  a  staple  on  Banks's  Land. 

We  had  brought  with  us  on  our  transport  two  years' 
provisions  for  the  detachment  of  Royal  Northwest 
Mounted  Police  stationed  at  Herschel  Island,  and  we  had 
been  privileged  to  taste  the  concentrated  cooking-eggs  and 
desiccated  vegetables  which  formed  part  of  their  commis- 
sariat. Now,  a  concentrated  egg  and  a  desiccated  carrot 
or  turnip  bear  no  more  family-likeness  to  the  new-laid 
triumph  of  the  old  Dominick  or  the  succulent  vegetable 
growing  in  your  own  back-yard  than  the  tin-type  of  Aunt 
Mary  taken  at  the  country  fair  does  to  the  dear  old  body 
herself.  Whale-meat  is  better  than  concentrated  cooking- 
egg,  seal-blood  piping  hot  more  to  be  desired  than  that  vile 
mess  of  desiccated  vegetables.  I  know.  I  feel  like  the  old 
Scot  who  exclaimed,  "Honesty  is  the  best  policy.  I've 
tried  baith" 

But  we  do  not  live  on  seal  alone  in  the  North,  for  there 
is  a  bewildering  bill-of-fare.  Reindeer  have  a  parasite 
living  on  the  back  between  the  skin  and  the  flesh,  a  melliflu- 
ous maggot  an  inch  long.  Raw  or  cooked  it  is  a  great 

271 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

delicacy,  and  if  you  shut  your  eyes  it  tastes  like  a  sweet 
shrimp.  Don't  be  disgusted.  If  you  have  scooped 
shrimps  from  their  native  heath,  you  have  discovered  the 
shrimp,  too,  to  be  a  parasite. 

Another  Arctic  titbit  is  that  fleshy  cushion  of  the  jaw 
of  the  whale  which  in  life  holds  the  baleen.  What  is 
whale-gum  like  ?  It  tastes  like  chestnuts,  looks  like  cocoa- 
nut,  and  cuts  like  old  cheese.  Whale-blubber  tastes  like 
raw  bacon  and  it  cannot  very  easily  be  cooked,  as  it  would 
liquify  too  soon.  It  is  a  good  deal  better  than  seal-oil, 
which  to  a  southern  palate  is  sweet,  mawkish,  and  sickly, 
Seal-oil  tastes  as  lamp-oil  smells.  But  you  can  approach 
without  a  qualm  boiled  beluga-skin,  which  is  the  skin  of  the 
white  whale.  In  its  soft  and  gelatinous  form  it  ranks 
among  northern  delicacies  with  beaver-tail  and  moose- 
nose,  being  exceedingly  tasty  and  ever  so  much  more  palat- 
able than  pigs-feet. 

Musquash  in  the  spring  is  said  to  be  tender  and  tooth- 
some, but  that  overpowering  smell  of  musk  proved  too 
much  for  our  determination.  You  may  break,  you  may 
shatter  the  rat  if  you  will,  but  the  scent  of  the  musk-rose 
will  cling  to  it  still.  There  is  a  limit  to  every  one's  scien- 
tific research,  and,  personally,  until  insistent  hunger  gnaws 
at  my  vitals  and  starvation  looms  round  the  edge  of  the 
next  iceberg,  I  draw  the  line  at  muskrat  and  am  not 
ashamed  to  say  so.  Compelling  is  the  association  of  ideas, 
and  the  thought  grips  one  that  muskrat  must  taste  as 
domestic  rats  (are  rats  domestic?)  look.  Raw  fish  at 
the  first  blush  does  not  sound  palatable,  yet  raw  oysters 
appeal.  The  truth  is  that  meat  or  fish  frozen  is  eaten 
raw  without  any  distaste,  the  freezing  exerting  on  the 

272 


MAINLY  CONCERNING  FOOD 

tissues  a  metabolic  change  similar  to  that  effected  by  cook- 
ing; and  it  is  convincingly  true  that  bad  fish  is  ever  so 
much  better  frozen  than  cooked. 

Blubber  is  not  a  staple,  as  is  so  often  misstated,  but  it  is 
a  much  esteemed  delicacy.  During  the  summer  months 
the  Eskimo  has  to  provide  light  and  fuel  for  that  long  half- 
year  of  darkness  within  the  igloo.  The  blubber  obtained 
in  summer  is  carefully  rendered  down  and  stored  in  seal- 
skin bags — the  winter  provision  of  gas-tank,  electric  stor- 
age-battery, coal-cellar,  and  wood-pile.  In  using  oil  for 
fuel,  this  master  artificer  of  the  North  has  anticipated  by 
decades,  if  not  centuries,  the  inventive  adaptability  of  his 
"civilised"  cousins.  The  blubber  appears  in  a  blanket  be- 
tween the  skin  of  the  animal  and  its  flesh,  and  when  it  is 
spared  for  food,  is  cut  into  delicious  strings,  an  inch  wide, 
an  inch  deep,  and  the  longer  the  better.  Give  a  Fur-Land 
kiddie  a  strip  of  this  sweetmeat  and  he  grins  like  that 
Cheshire  cat  he  has  never  seen.  He  doesn't  eat  it,  but 
drops  it  into  the  cavernous  recesses  of  his  stomach,  as  you 
lower  your  buckets  into  the  well  of  English  undefiled. 
"Disgusting,"  you  say.  It's  all  a  matter  of  latitude. 
Watching  a  roly-poly  Innuit  baby  finding  its  stomach-level 
with  plummet  of  seal-blubber  sustains  the  interest  of  the 
grand-stand  for  a  longer  period  than  watching  your  child 
dallying  with  the  dripping  delights  of  an  "all-day  sucker." 
These  little  babies  have  the  digestion  of  an  ostrich  and 
his  omniverous  appetite.  Suckled  at  their  mothers'  breasts 
until  they  are  two  or  even  three  years  old,  when  they  are 
weaned  they  at  once  graduate  into  the  bill-of-fare  of  the 
adult.  Walrus-hide  is  about  as  uncompromising  as  ele- 
phant-hide, and  an  inch  thick.  You  see  little  chaps  of 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

three  and  four  struggling  valiantly  with  this,  nibbling  at 
it  with  keen  delight,  as  a  puppy  does  on  an  old  shoe,  or 
your  curled  Fauntleroy  on  an  imported  apple.  The  Es- 
kimo mother  has  no  green  apples  to  contend  with  in  her 
kindergarten  and  need  never  pour  castor-oil  upon  the  trou- 
bled waters.  Every  day  in  the  year  her  babies  are 
crammed  with  marrow  and  grease,  the  oil  of  gladness  and 
the  fat  of  the  land. 

To  many  Eskimo  the  contents  of  the  paunch  of  the  rein- 
deer is  the  only  vegetable  food  they  get,  and  this  is  eaten 
without  salt,  as  all  their  food  is  eaten.  They  crack  the 
bones  of  any  animal  they  kill  to  get  the  marrow,  which 
is  eaten  on  the  spot,  the  broken  bones  being  pulverised 
and  boiled  to  make  much-prized  gelatine.  To  his  fish  and 
flesh  the  Eskimo  adds  a  bewildering  plenitude  of  wild- 
fowl. Last  spring,  eighteen  hundred  geese  and  ducks 
were  killed  by  Eskimo  on  Herschel  Island  sand-pit.  It  is 
the  paradise  of  pot-hunter  and  wing-shot.  Captain  Ellis 
of  the  Karluk,  with  one  Eskimo  fellow-sportsman,  got  a 
bag  of  1132  ducks,  geese,  and  swans  in  three  days'  shoot- 
ing, to  send  to  the  wrecked  whalers  off  Point  Barrow, 
Alaska. 

Who  are  these  people,  and  whence  came  they?  Each 
little  tribe  is  a  book  unread  before,  and  full  to  the  brim  of 
fascination.  When  they  are  confronted  with  the  picture 
of  an  elephant  in  a  current  magazine,  they  are  all  excite- 
ment. The  book  is  carried  eagerly  to  the  old  man  sun- 
ning himself  down  in  the  anchored  oomiak.  Animation, 
retrospection,  agitation  chase  from  his  seamed  face  all 
traces  of  drowsiness.  "We  used  to  know  it!'  "Our 
fathers  have  told  us."  "This  land-whale  with  its  tail  in 

274 


MAINLY  CONCERNING  FOOD 

front  once  lived  in  the  land  of  the  Innuit."  We  are  now 
the  ones  to  become  excited.  Intending  merely  to  amuse 
these  fellow-Canadians  who  had  been  kind  to  us,  we  stum- 
ble upon  a  story  of  intense  interest.  "Where  did  your 
fathers  see  this  animal?"  we  asked.  "Here,  in  this  coun- 
try. In  the  ice  his  bones  were  hidden,"  said  the  old  man. 
With  this  he  relapsed  into  the  torpor  we  had  disturbed, 
and  no  further  word  did  we  elicit. 

Captain  Mogg,  of  the  whaling  schooner  Olga,  two  win- 
ters ago  pursued  his  whaling  operations  far  to  the  north 
and  east.  Ice-bound  at  Prince  Albert  Land,  he  stumbled 
upon  a  little  settlement  of  Eskimo.  These  were  completely 
isolated  from  and  had  had  no  communication  with  white 
men  or  any  community  of  their  own  race.  Only  one  of 
their  number  had  seen  a  white  man  before — one  old,  old 
woman,  the  grandmother  of  the  band.  The  captain  of 
the  Olga  speaks  Eskimo  fluently,  and  to  him  this  ancestress 
of  the  "lost  tribe"  had  an  interesting  story  to  tell.  She 
remembered  a  white  man  who  came  across  the  Great  Sea 
from  the  west  in  "a  big  kayak,"  and  she  extended  her  arms 
to  show  its  size.  Ller  people  had  given  this  stranger  seal- 
meat  and  blubber  and  the  "Chief"  from  the  great  ship  had 
presented  her  with  a  piece  of  cloth  as  red  as  the  new-spilt 
blood  of  the  seal.  This  grandmother-in-Ice-Land  is  with- 
out shadow  of  doubt  the  very  child  to  whom  M'Clure  gave 
a  piece  of  red  flannel  far  back  in  the  early  fifties  while 
prosecuting  his  double  search  for  the  Northwest  Passage 
and  the  lost  Franklin.  Wre  have  M'Clure's  record  of  the 
incident  and  the  little  girl's  questioning  wonder, — "Of 
what  animal  is  this  the  skin?"  Thus  does  history  mani- 
fest itself  on  the  other  side  of  the  shield  "after  many  days." 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Through  the  years,  the  Eskimo  has  fared  better  than  the 
Indian.  It  would  seem  that  the  London  Directorate  of 
the  H.  B.  Co.  expected  its  servants  within  the  Arctic  Circle 
in  the  days  that  are  past  to  do  almost  a  Creator's  part  and 
make  all  things  of  nothing.  The  scanty  provisions  and 
trading  goods  from  England  which  filtered  in  thus  far 
were  to  be  given  to  the  Indians  in  exchange  for  furs,  while 
the  Factor  and  his  people  were  largely  expected  to  "live 
on  the  country." 

Cannibalism  was  not  unknown.  The  winter  of  1841-2 
was  an  especially  hard  one.  On  the  i8th  March,  1841,  J. 
William  Spence  and  Murdock  Morrison  were  dispatched 
with  the  winter  express  from  Fort  Good  Hope  to  Fort 
Macpherson.  During  the  second  night  out,  while  they 
were  asleep  in  the  encampment,  they  were  knocked  on  the 
head  by  four  starving  Indian  women,  immediately  cut  to 
pieces,  and  devoured.  It  is  further  reported  that  these 
women  previously  had  killed  and  eaten  their  husbands 
and  all  their  children  except  one  little  boy.  Of  the  two 
murdered  Scots  they  ate  what  they  could  that  night  and 
made  pemmican  of  what  was  over,  reporting  afterward 
that  one  was  sweet  but  that  the  other,  tasting  of  tobacco, 
was  not  so  good. 

Father  Petitot  gives  us  another  glimpse  of  that  awrful 
winter.  His  na'ive  words  are,  "Chie-ke-nayelle,  a  Slavi 
from  Fort  Norman,  was  a  winning  fellow,  handsome,  gra- 
cious, the  possessor  of  a  happy  countenance.  On  his  feat- 
ures played  always  a  smile  of  contentment  and  innocence. 
In  his  youth  he  had  eaten  of  human  flesh  during  the  terri- 
ble famine  of  1841.  He  killed  his  young  daughter  with 
a  hatchet-blow,  cooked  her  like  flesh,  and  ate  her  as  a 

276 


MAINLY  CONCERNING  FOOD 

meat-pate.  It  is  said  that  after  one  has  partaken  of  hu- 
man flesh,  the  appetite  for  it  often  returns.  I  hasten  to 
add  that  Chie-ke-nayelle,  in  spite  of  the  soubriquet  man- 
geur  de  monde  which  is  irrevocably  rivetted  to  his  name, 
has  not  succumbed  to  such  an  appetite.  He  is  indeed  an 
excellent  Christian.  Nevertheless,  I  would  not  like  to 
camp  with  Chie-ke-nayelle  in  time  of  famine." 

Another  starvation  story  related  by  the  good  Father  is 
not  quite  so  ghastly.  He  tells  us  of  one  "M.  Finlaison  of 
burlesque  memory,"  who,  when  all  provisions  were  out, 
took  his  fiddle  and,  calling  the  men  of  his  fort  before  the 
door  of  his  empty  larder,  played  to  them  a  Scottish  reel. 
That  was  their  dinner  for  the  day, — instead  of  meat  they 
had  sound.  The  narrator  adds,  "In  America  they  would 
have  lynched  the  too-jovial  Scotchman.  In  the  North- 
west the  good  half-breeds  laughed  and  applauded  the  mas- 
ter." 

The  winter  of  1844  also  was  a  season  of  distress.  Re- 
ferring to  this  year,  a  beautiful  young  Indian  woman  said 
to  the  sympathetic  priest,  "I  did  not  wish  to  eat  the  arm 
of  my  father.  I  was  then  a  small  child  of  eight,  and  I 
had  not  been  able  to  see  my  old  father  eaten  without  cry- 
ing out  with  loud  screams.  But  my  mother  called  to  me  in 
rage,  Tf  you  do  not  eat  of  it,  it  is  that  you  condemn  us 
and  hate  us,  then  you  will  surely  go  the  same  way/  And 
I  ate  the  flesh  of  my  father,  hiding  my  sobs  and  devouring 
my  tears,  for  fear  of  being  killed  like  him;  so  much  was 
I  afraid  of  the  eyes  of  my  mother." 

Another  Indian  woman  confesses,  "I  left  my  husband, 
a  hunter  at  the  fort,  and  took  with  me  by  the  hand  my 
only  child,  a  boy  of  six,  and  directed  my  steps  towards 

277 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Ka-cho-Gottine.  It  was  indeed  far.  I  only  knew  the  way 
by  hearsay.  Once  I  myself  have  eaten  of  my  father,  but 
now  I  am  a  Christian  and  that  horrible  time  is  far  from 
me.  I  have  a  qualm  in  thinking  that  my  stomach  has  par- 
taken of  the  author  of  my  days.  Meanwhile  his  flesh 
has  become  mine,  and  what  will  happen  to  us  both  on  the 
final  resurrection  day?"  Here  Father  Petitot  interpo- 
lates, "Ah!  if  she  had  only  read  Dante!"  "I  did  not  in- 
tend to  keep  my  boy  with  me,  he  was  too  young  and  too 
weak.  I  did  not  wish  to  devour  him.  I  had  no  heart 
for  that.  I  decided  to  abandon  him.  At  the  first  camp 
I  left  him,  and  knew  they  would  eat  him  there.  I  wept  on 
thinking  of  the  horrible  death  that  awaited  my  only  child. 
But  what  could  I  do?"  This  story  has  a  more  comforta- 
ble ending  than  the  previous  one.  We  breathe  relief  in 
learning  from  the  priest  that  the  following  night  the  little 
boy  overtook  his  mother.  He  had  walked  all  day  and 
all  night,  following  her  snowshoe  tracks.  They  went  on 
together,  the  third  day  they  snared  some  hares,  and  their 
troubles  were  over. 

Father  Petitot  tells  of  a  Rabbit-skin  Indian  who  found 
a  mummified  body  in  the  forks  of  a  tree  near  the  Ram- 
parts of  the  Mackenzie  and  who  came  running  into  the 
Mission,  his  hair  on  end  with  fright,  asking  excitedly, 
"Did  God  make  that  man  or  was  he  made  by  the  men  of 
the  Hudson's  Bay?" 

Another  tale  of  his  is  of  an  Indian,  Le  Petit  Cochon, 
who  had  a  tape-worm  and  thought  it  was  a  whale.  "Un- 
fortunate!" exclaims  the  Father,  "possessed  of  a  whale! 
That's  the  difference  between  Le  Petit  Cochon  and  Jonah." 
Sucking  Pig  said  he  would  join  the  Church  if  the  priest 

278 


MAINLY  CONCERNING  FOOD 

would  rid  him  of  the  tape-worm.  But  we  must  use  the 
words  of  Petitot  himself,  for  they  are  too  delicious  to  lose. 
"Christmas  night,  1865,  after  midnight  mass,  Le  Petit 
Cochon,  carefully  purged,  both  as  to  body  and  soul,  by  an 
emetic,  two  purgatives,  and  a  good  confession,  content  as 
a  King,  received  holy  baptism.  I  gave  him  the  name  of 
Noel." 

In  starvation  times,  guests  were  not  appreciated.  Rob- 
ert Campbell  of  the  H.  B.  Company,  writing  from  Fort 
Halkett  in  1840,  says,  "God  grant  that  the  time  of  priva- 
tion may  soon  end,  and  that  I  may  not  see  a  soul  from 
below  till  the  snow  disappears."  These  days  of  the  early 
forties  when  England  was  engaged  with  the  Chartist  ris- 
ings at  home  and  her  Chinese  wars  abroad,  were  surely 
parlous  times  up  on  this  edge  of  empire.  The  Fort  Simp- 
son journals  of  February  4,  1843,  record,  "The  Cannibal, 
with  young  Noir,  and  others  of  the  party  of  Laman,  ar- 
rived this  evening  in  the  last  stage  of  existence,  being  com- 
pelled by  starvation  to  eat  all  their  furs." 

Still  these  sonsy  Scots  kept  a  good  heart  and  were  able 
to  jest  at  their  misfortunes  with  the  grim  humour  that  be- 
longs to  their  race.  Neither  empty  larder  nor  other  mis- 
fortune disheartened  them.  The  recurrence  of  New 
Year's  Day  and  the  Feast  of  St.  Andrew  were  made  ever 
occasions  for  rejoicing.  Up  on  the  Pelly  Forks  under  date 
of  November  3Oth,  1848,  the  record  reads,  "Though  far 
from  our  native  land  and  countrymen,  let  us  pass  St.  An- 
drew's Day  in  social  glee.  So  fill  your  glasses,  my  lads, 
and  pass  the  bottle  round."  Three  years  later,  on  the 
same  anniversary,  the  lines  are,  "Very  cold  for  St.  An- 
drew's, and  no  haggis  for  dinner." 

279 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

And  as  January  ist  ushers  in  the  year  1845,  the  Factor 
at  Fort  Macpherson  bursts  into  verse: 

"This  day,  Time  winds  th'  exhausted  chain 
To  run  the  twelvemonths'  length  again. 
I  see  the  old  bald-pated  fellow 
With  ardent  eyes,  complexion  sallow, 
Adjust  the  unimpaired  machine 
To  wheel  the  equal,  dull  routine." 

Underneath  the  record  a  postscript  appears,  in  another 
hand: 

"Oh  let  us  love  our  occupations, 
Bless  the  Co.  and  their  relations, 
Be  content  with  our  poor  rations, 
And  always  know  our  proper  stations." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  TALE   OF   A   WHALE 
"In  the  North  Sea  lived  a  whale." 

What  is  a  whale?  Well,  although  the  whalers  dub  it 
so,  it  is  not  a  fish,  but  is  a  true  mammal,  the  last  of  the 
mammoth  creatures  that  trod  the  earth  and  floundered 
the  seas  of  a  past  age.  The  whale  is  the  biggest,  the  meek- 
est, and  the  most  interesting  of  living  animals.  As  we 
go  north,  we  readjust  all  our  ideas  of  distance  and  im- 
mensity. Rivers  are  longer,  lakes  more  majestic,  and 
whales  bigger  than  we  have  ever  dreamed.  Examining 
a  stranded  whale  at  Herschel,  we  see  the  flippers  to  be 
really  hands  with  four  fingers  and  a  thumb  enveloped  in 
a  sheath,  and  rudimentary  hind-legs  are  discovered  under 
the  tough  skin.  Without  doubt,  the  ancestors  of  the  whale 
were  land  mammals  which  became  adapted  to  a  littoral  life, 
and  in  splashing  round  the  shore  acquired  the  habit  of 
swimming.  Subsequently  carried  out  to  sea,  they  became 
under  the  new  environment  the  structure  as  we  see  it. 

Off  the  delta  of  the  Mackenzie,  the  Circumpolar  of  Arc- 
tic Bowhead  whale  (Balaena  mysticetus)  is  making  his  last 
stand.  Unless  a  close  season  is  enforced,  this  cetacean 
carrying  round  his  ten  thousand  dollar  mouthful  of  baleen 
will  soon  fold  his  fluked  fins  like  the  Arab  and  swing  that 
huge  body  of  his  into  line  with  the  Great  Auk,  the  Sea- 
20  281 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Otter,  the  Plains  Buffalo,  and  all  the  melancholy  procession 
of  Canadian  Has-Beens. 

Whales  divide  themselves  into  two  great  classes :  those 
furnished  with  teeth  (the  Denticete)  and  those  in  which 
the  place  of  teeth  is  supplied  by  a  sieve  process,  furnishing 
the  baleen  or  " whalebone"  of  commerce  (the  Mysticete 


We  Tell  the  Tale  of  a  Whale 

or  Balaenidae).  The  members  of  the  Baleen  Whale  fam- 
ily are  the  Sulphur-Bottoms,  the  Finner  Whales  or  Ror- 
quals, the  Humpbacks,  and  the  king  of  all  whales,  the 
founder  of  the  municipality  of  Herschel  Island,  whom  his 
pursuers  call  indiscriminately  the  "Arctic  Whale,"  "Polar 
Whale,"  "Greenland  Whale,"  "Bowheacl,"  "Right  Whale," 
or  "Icebreaker." 

Bowheads  run  in  length  from  seventy  to  one  hundred 

282 


THE  TALE  OF  A  WHALE 

feet,  weighing  up  to  one  hundred  and  ten  tons  each,  there 
being  authentic  records  of  exceptional  specimens  whose 
weight  reached  two  hundred  and  fifty  tons.  Comparisons 
are  illuminating.  The  mammoth  or  hairy  elephant  in  the 
Field  Columbian  Museum  is  nine  feet  six  inches  high  and 
twelve  feet  in  longitudinal  measurement.  The  lips  of  a 
Bowhead  whale  are  from  fifteen  to  twenty  feet  in  length 
and  yield  from  one  to  two  tons  of  pure  oil  each, — lips  that 
turn  a  nigger-minstrel  green  with  envy !  The  eyes  placed 
in  the  posterior  part  of  the  head  are  each  as  big  as  an 
orange.  The  tongue  of  the  whale  is  twenty  feet  long, 
and  this  member,  by  means  of  which  he  pushes  to  the  top 
of  his  palate  the  animalcule  on  which 'he  feeds  (as  you 
would  a  gooseberry),  gives  the  whaler  six  tons  of  oil. 
The  aorta  is  as  big  as  a  man's  waist  and,  at  each  pulsation 
of  the  heart,  spurts  out  ten  to  fifteen  gallons  of  blood. 
The  heart  itself  is  more  than  a  yard  in  transverse  diameter. 
The  toothed  whales  carry  the  teeth  in  their  lower  jaw, 
the  most  valuable  of  this  lot  being  the  Spermaceti  or 
Sperm  Whale  or  Cachalot,  the  Pilot  Whale  or  Ca'ing 
Whale,  the  White  Whale  or  Beluga,  the  Killer  or  Orca, 
the  Narwhal,  and  such  small  fry  as  Blackfish,  Porpoises, 
and  Dolphins.  Only  the  toothed  whale  eats  fish ;  the  others 
live  upon  animalculse  and  the  most  minute  of  marine  life, 
called  "brit"  by  the  whalers.  The  Bowhead  that  we  have 
come  up  to  the  Arctic  to  see  feeds  on  the  smallest  infu- 
<,soria.  He  couldn't  eat  a  herring  if  by  that  one  act  he 
might  attain  immortality. 

Whale  errors  die  hard.  Artists  persistently  depict  the 
big  animals  as  spouting  beautiful  fountains  of  water,  but 
the  fact  is  that  whales  breathe  out  air  only  from  their 

283 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

lungs.  They  come  to  the  surface  for  that  purpose,  the 
"blowing"  being  quite  analogous  to  the  breathing  of  land 
mammals.  Noticing  the  condensation  of  a  whale's  breath 
up  here  in  the  icy  Arctic,  we  guess  at  the  cause  which 
gave  rise  to  this  particular  blunder.  Milton  in  thirteen 
words  manages  to  perpetrate  three  (whale)  bulls.  "At 
his  gills  draws  in,  and  at  his  trunk,  spouts  out,  a  sea." 
Guiltless  of  either  gills  or  trunk,  no  whale  ever  spouted 
out  anything  but  common  or  seaside  air. 

The  Bowhead  is  hunted  for  his  "whalebone" ;  the  Cacha- 
lot or  true  Sperm,  the  lord  of  the  toothed  whales,  for  that 
great  lake  of  sperm  oil  and  spermaceti  which  he  carries 
round  in  a  portable  tank  in  the  top  of  his  head. 

It  is  customary  to  call  whales  "fierce,"  "savage,"  "mur- 
derous," but  this  is  rank  libel,  for  the  whale  is  timid  and 
affectionate.  Every  family,  however,  has  its  black  sheep. 
The  Orca  or  Killer  is  the  terror  alike  of  sealing-rookeries, 
fish-schools,  and  whale  bone  whales.  One  Killer  taken 
up  here  had  in  its  stomach  fourteen  porpoises  and  fourteen 
large  seals,  and  it  choked  to  death  on  the  fifteenth.  Banded 
in  Molly  Maguire  groups,  the  Killers  murder  the  young 
seal-pups  taking  their  first  lessons  in  swimming  off  the 
Pribilofs.  We  have  seen  them,  a  pack  of  hungry  sea- 
wolves,  surround  a  Bowhead  whale!  A  number  of  these 
brigands  of  the  Bering  Sea  hang  on  to  the  lower  lip  of 
the  big  whale  till  the  opened  mouth  allows  a  Killer  to 
enter  bodily,  when  the  Bowhead's  tongue  is  eaten  out  and 
the  whole  sea  is  a  shambles.  At  the  approach  of  the  Killer 
even  sea-lions  seek  the  shore.  And  the  Alaska  Indian 
who  would  pose  as  Bad  Bill  of  the  Clambank  to  the  third 
generation  carves  a  Killer  as  the  crest  of  his  totem. 

284 


THE  TALE  OF  A  WHALE 

The  American  is  more  aggressive — shall  we  say  pro- 
gressive ?— than  the  Canadian.  The  Bowhead  whale  has 
within  recent  years  chosen  for  his  summer  habitat  the 
pleasant  waters  off  Arctic  Canada.  Each  of  these  floating 
tanks  of  baleen  and  oil  nets  his  lucky  captor  from  thirteen 
thousand  dollars  upwards,  and  yet  for  twenty  years  Cana- 


Two  Little  Ones  at  Herschel  Island 

dians  have  been  content  to  see  their  more  enterprising 
cousins  from  California  come  into  their  back-yard  and 
carry  off  these  oily  prizes. 

Is  there  much  money  in  whales  to-day?  Are  not  oil  and 
whalebone  drugs  in  the  market?  Let  us  see.  Off  the 
Mackenzie  mouth  is  Herschel  Island  anchorage.  Here, 
since  1889,  the  American  whaling-fleet,  setting  out  from 
San  Francisco,  has  made  its  summer  stand,  its  winter  wait- 

285 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

ing-quarters.  One  whale  to  one  boat  in  a  season  covers 
the  cost  of  outfitting  and  maintenance,  and  more  than  one 
spells  substantial  profit.  In  1887,  one  of  the  Arctic  whal- 
ers, the  steamer  Orca,  captured  twenty-eight  whales.  The 
Jeanctte  in  1905  got  ten  whales  and  a  calf,  the  Karluk  got 
seven  whales,  the  Alexander  eight,  the  Bowhead  seven. 
The  boats  wintering  at  Herschel  in  that  year  had  among 
them  thirty-three  whales  and  one  calf.  At  fifteen  thousand 
dollars  each  (San  Francisco  values  for  that  season)  the 
thirty-three  whales  netted  very  nearly  half  a  million.  Two 
years  later  the  Narwhal  took  out  fifteen  whales,  the 
Jeanette  and  Bowhead  each  four.  Although  the  average 
bone  per  head  is  two  thousand  pounds,  sometimes  the 
catch  runs  far  beyond  that  figure.  A  whale  caught  by 
Capt.  Simmons  of  the  ship  John  M.  Winthrop  carried 
thirty-three  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  of  bone  in  its  head,— 
$16,750!  One  of  these  at  a  time  would  be  good  fishing. 

The  first  Bowhead  taken  from  these  waters  went  in 
1891  to  the  American  steam-whaler  Grampus,  her  catch 
for  three  seasons  being  twenty-one  whales.  Previous  to 
this,  even  wise  whale-men  thought  it  useless  to  go  "to  the 
east'ard  of  P'int  Barrow"  for  this  big  whale;  since  that 
date  the  catch  in  Canadian  waters  has  been  thirteen  hun- 
dred and  forty-five  whales.  Ignoring  the  oil  altogether 
and  putting  the  "bone"  (baleen)  at  two  thousand  pounds 
each  whale  and  the  value  of  it  at  five  dollars  a  pound, 
both  conservative  figures,  we  find  that  thirteen  and  a  half 
millions  in  whale-values  have  gone  out  of  this  Canadian 
sea-pasture  the  past  twenty  years,  by  the  back-door  route. 

Are  there  as  good  fish  in  the  sea  as  have  come  out  of  it? 
Expert  evidence  differs.  Captain  George  B.  Leavitt,  of 

286 


THE  TALE  OF  A  WHALE 

the  Narwhal,  in  1907  lowered  twenty-two  times  without 
striking  and  yet  went  out  with  fifteen  whales.  He  says 
he  saw  that  season  more  whales  than  any  year  previous, 
but  that  they  are  on  the  move  east  and  north. 

The  general  practice  is  for  a  ship  to  reach  this  water 
from  San  Francisco  in  the  early  summer;  whale  as  long 
as  the  ice  will  permit ;  go  into  winter  quarters  at  Herschel ; 
get  out  of  the  ice  as  soon  as  possible  next  summer,  prob- 
ably the  first  week  in  July;  whale  as  long  as  it  can  stay 
without  getting  nipped  by  the  new  ice  of  September ;  carry 
out  its  catch  through  Bering  Strait  to  San  Francisco  as 
late  as  possible;  dispose  of  the  cargo;  refit;  return  next 
season,  and  do  it  all  over  again.  The  active  whaling- 
season  is  restricted  to  eight  or  ten  weeks,  and  every  one 
on  board  a  whaler  from  captain  to  galley-devil  works  on 
a  lay.  The  captain  gets  one-twelfth  of  the  take,  the  first 
mate  one  twenty-second,  the  second  mate  one-thirtieth, 
the  third  mate  one  forty-fifth,  the  carpenter  one  seventy- 
fifth,  the  steward  one  eightieth,  fore-mast  sailors  one 
eightieth,  green  hands  one  two-hundredth.  Engineers 
get  about  one  hundred  and  twenty  dollars  a  month 
straight.  It  looks  all  right  in  the  contract  signed 
a  year  ago  in  a  San  Francisco  waterfront  dive,  but  it 
never  works  out  as  it  looks  on  paper.  The  A.  B.  over- 
draws from  the  slop-chest  (often  before  the  whale  is 
caught)  the  vulgar-fraction  which  stands  for  his  share 
of  fat  things,  and  you  come  across  him  possessed  of  the 
sulky  mood  which  dining  on  dead  horse  (land  or  marine) 
induces  in  most  of  us. 

A  trade  in  fur  also  makes  out  by  this  Pacific-Arctic, 
Arctic-Pacific  route.  We  estimate  that  total  products  to 

287 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

the  value  of  a  million  and  a  half  find  their  way  each  year 
out  of  Canada  in  the  ships  of  the  whaling-fleet.  "The 
farther  north  the  finer  fur"  is  a  recognised  law.  The 
American  ship  brings  flour,  provisions,  Krag-Jorgensen 
guns,  ammunition,  tea,  trinkets  to  the  Eskimo,  and  receive 
for  these  the  choicest  furs  this  continent  produces. 

The  Canadian  Provinces  which  propinquity  would  seem 
to  call  to  this  international  whale-joust  are  British  Colum- 
bia and  Alberta.  British  Columbia,  in  her  splendid  whal- 
ing-stations and  refineries  on  Vancouver  Island,  has  tasted 
whale-blood,  the  blood  of  the  Humpback  and  Sulphur-bot- 
tom, the  Orca  or  Killer,  the  Cachalot  or  true  Sperm,  and 
one  would  think  her  appetite  sufficiently  whetted  to  want 
to  acquire  the  "feel"  of  Arctic  Bowhead  profits,  the  fattest 
dividend-sheets  of  them  all.  Alberta  claims  as  rich  hin- 
terland all  the  coal  and  gas  and  timber,  tar,  furs,  feathers, 
and  fish  between  the  parallel  of  60°  and  the  uttermost  edge 
of  things.  These  winning  bulks  of  blubber  should  by  all 
laws  of  the  game  be  hers.  Some  day  Alberta's  metropolis 
on  the  Saskatchewan,  overcoming  the  rapids  on  the  Atha- 
basca and  the  Slave,  will  send  her  deep-sea  vessels  by 
interior  waterways  to  pull  down  into  Canadian  pockets  a 
tardy  share  of  these  leviathans.  Will  there  be  any  left? 
It  is  hard  to  say. 

Little  wind-swept  island  of  Herschel!  We  reach  you 
to-day  not  by  deep-sea  vessel  from  the  westward  but  up 
through  the  continent  by  its  biggest  northward-trending 
stream.  Eighty  miles  through  the  Northern  Ocean  itself 
from  the  Mackenzie  mouth  brings  our  whale-boat  grating 
upon  the  shingle.  "As  far  as  we  go !"  This  is  essentially 
the  Island  of  Whales,  the  farthest  north  industrial  centre 

288 


THE  TALE  OF  A  WHALE 

in  America,  the  world's  last  and  most  lucrative  whaling- 
ground.  It  is  well  to  take  our  bearings.  We  are  in  lati- 
tude 69^°  N.  and  just  about  139°  west  of  Greenwich;  we 
are  a  full  thousand  miles  nearer  our  Pole  than  the  Tierra 
del  Fuegan  in  South  America  is  to  his.  And  it  blows.  A 
nor'easter  on  Herschel  never  dies  in  debt  to  a  sou'wester. 
Lifting  itself  one  thousand  feet  above  sea-level,  this  sep- 
tentrional shelter  for  ships  where  the  seagulls  wheel  at  our 
approach,  and  as  they  wheel,  whine  like  lost  souls,  is  twen- 
ty-three miles  in  circumference,  with  neither  water  nor 
fuel.  For  six  months  every  year  comparative  darkness 
wraps  it  around.  Snow  and  ice  hold  it  fast  till  mid-July; 
and  yet  people  with  tropic  isles  to  choose  from  and  green 
valleys  where  the  meadow-lark  sings  have  crowded  here 
for  twenty  years  to  make  their  home! 

The  most  incongruous  lot  that  Fate  ever  jostled  together 
into  one  corner, — who  are  they?  The  whaler  of  every 
country  and  complexion  from  Lascar  to  Swede,  Eskimo 
men  and  women  and  big-eyed  babies,  half-caste  hybrids  of 
these  two  factors,  Missionaries,  and  Mounted  Police.  It 
is  interesting  to  note  the  order  of  their  arrival.  The 
whaler  drawn  by  oily  lure  followed  the  Bowhead  east  and 
north  from  Bering  Sea.  To  man  his  boats,  to  hunt  cari- 
bou for  him,  and  to  furnish  temporary  spouses,  the  whaler 
picked  up  and  attached  to  his  menage  the  Eskimo  from  the 
mainland  in  little  bunches  en  fainille.  Ensuing  connubial 
complications  brought  the  missionary  on  the  scene.  To 
keep  the  whaler  and  the  missionary  from  each  other's 
throats,  and  incidentally  to  make  it  easy  for  the  American 
citizen  to  trade  in  Canadian  baleen  and  blubber,  came  the 
debonair  Royal  Northwest  Mounted  Policeman,  the  red- 

289 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

coated  incarnation  of  Pax  Britannica.  There  winter  at 
Herschel  every  year  two  hundred  and  fifty  whalers  and  an 
equal  number  of  Kogmollyc  and  Nunatalmute  Eskimo. 

Pauline  Cove  on  Herschel  Island  has  three  fathoms  of 
water  and  can  winter  fifty  ships.  Landing  and  looking 
about  us,  we  experience  a  feeling  of  remoteness,  of  aliena- 
tion from  the  world  of  railroads  and  automobiles  and  opera 
tickets.  Back  of  the  harbour  are  the  officers'  quarters  of 
the  whaling  company,  the  barracks  of  the  Royal  Northwest 
Mounted  Police,  the  huts  of  the  Eskimo;  in  front  of  us 
the  clear  panorama  of  the  mountains  on  the  shore-line. 

North  America  here,  in  profound  and  lasting  loneliness, 
dips  its  shaggy  arms  and  ice-bound  capes  into  an  ocean 
illuminated  now  by  the  brief  smile  of  summer  but,  for  ten 
months  out  of  the  twelve,  drear  and  utterly  desolate.  The 
most  striking  features  of  the  off-shore  islands  is  that  they 
are  islands  of  ice  rather  than  of  earth.  Slightly  rising 
above  ocean-level,  they  exhibit  one  or  two  feet  of  sandy 
soil,  and  between  this  scant  counterpane  and  the  interior 
foundations  of  the  earth  is  nothing  but  pure  translucent 
ice.  There  is  going  on  a  rapid  disintegrating  of  these 
islands.  The  whaler  calls  this  far  fringe  of  America  "the 
ocean  graveyard"  and  "the  step-mother  to  ships."  There 
have  been  five  wrecks  on  this  coast  in  recent  years:  the 
Penelope  off  Shingle  Point,  the  Bonanza  off  King  Point, 
the  Triton  on  the  shores  of  Herschel  itself,  the  Alexander 
near  Horton  River,  a  little  missionary  craft  off  Shingle 
Point,  and  Mikklesen's  ship  The  Duchess  of  Bedford, 
abandoning  her  ambitious  search  for  a  dream-continent 
in  Beaufort  Sea  to  deposit  her  tapped-camphor-wood  bones 
on  the  edge  of  the  ocean  of  her  quest. 

290 


THE  TALE  OF  A  WHALE 

The  Mackenzie  River  carries  the  freshening  influence 
of  its  current  for  miles  out  to  sea,  and  the  whole  mainland 
coast  is  piled  high  with  drift-trees  carried  by  its  stream 
to  the  Eskimo, — a  boon  more  prized  by  them  than  the 
most  seductive  story  the  missionary  can  tell  of  the 
harps  and  golden  streets  of  that  strange  heaven  of  the 
white  man  where  whale-meat  is  unknown  and  blubber 
enters  not. 

In  July,  resurrection  comes  to  Herschel, — saxifrages, 
white  anemones  through  the  snow,  the  whoop  of  the  mos- 
quito-hawk, and  the  wild  fox  dodging  among  the  dwarf- 
junipers  and  uncovered  graves!  And  the  Midnight  Sun? 
It  is  not  a  continual  blare  of  light  for  twenty-four  hours. 
It  sweeps  through  the  midnight  heavens,  but  between  ten 
o'clock  in  the  evening  and  four  in  the  morning  there  is  a 
sensible  change.  Colour  tints  and  lines  of  demarcation  on 
sea  and  ships  are  harder  to  distinguish,  shadows  less  clear- 
cut.  Birds  roost  and  even  flowers  close,  Nature  whisper- 
ing to  both  that,  if  they  would  reproduce  after  their  kind 
in  the  short  Arctic  summer,  energies  must  be  conserved. 
Surely  the  world  holds  nothing  more  beautiful  than  this 
Polar  night,  this  compelling  gloaming,  the  "cockshut 
light"  of  Francis  Thompson.  Here  the  evening  and  the 
morning  sit  together  hand  in  hand,  and,  even  as  you  watch, 
lead  in  the  day,  the  new  day  born  beneath  the  starless 
sky.  The  July  sun  stabs  into  activity  our  incongruous 
community.  On  board  the  vessels  guns  are  cleaned,  har- 
poons pointed,  whale-boats  caulked,  and  the  winter  deck- 
house is  lifted  off  bodily.  Up  in  the  rigging  fox-skins 
and  all  the  year's  fur-booty  sweeten  in  the  sunlight,  and 
eagerly  the  spring  "leads"  in  the  ice  are  watched  from 

291 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

hour  to  hour  if  a  way  be  opened  to  trend  out  in  the  track 
of  the  big  Bowhead. 

Strange  people  crowd  the  fo'castle.  Two  years  ago 
the  ships  bound  for  "Outside"  got  nipped  in  early  ice  and 
were  forced  to  winter  at  Herschel  all  unprepared.  Re- 
duced to  half-rations  the  crew  got  weak,  and  scurvy  threat- 
ened. The  Mounted  Police  (who  by  the  way  are 
"mounted"  in  imagination  only,  as  there  is  nothing  for  the 
most  gallant  to  stride  here  but  Husky  dogs),  in  making 
examination  of  the  men  below  decks,  got  to  their  enquiries 
a  technical  reply  that  staggered  them.  One  able-bodied 
seaman,  busied  with  between-decks  blubber,  proved  to  be 
a  medical  man  with  degrees  from  two  colleges.  He  sub- 
sequently made  at  the  request  of  the  Police  a  searching 
report  on  the  state  of  health  of  the  island  community,  add- 
ing suggestions  for  its  improvement.  The  report  was 
signed  "T.  H.  Toynbee  Wright,  M.  D.,"  and,  after  making 
it,  the  A.  B.,  M.  D.  saluted,  donned  his  oily  overalls,  and 
turned  once  more  to  the  savoury  spoils  of  the  Bowhead. 
Which  all  goes  to  prove  that  in  these  latitudes  "you  never 
can  tell." 

Whale-men  at  Herschel  give  whales  five  names  accord- 
ing to  age  and  size:  they  are  "suckers"  under  a  year, 
"short-heads"  as  long  as  they  are  suckled,  "stunts"  at  two 
years,  "skull-fish"  with  baleen  less  than  six  feet  long,  and 
"size-fish"  at  the  age  when  a  boy  reaches  man's  estate. 
A  whale  needs  no  re-incarnation  theory  of  the  theosophist, 
for  he  crowds  enough  experience  into  one  sea-life  to  satisfy 
the  fact-thirst  of  the  greediest  little  Gradgrind.  Fancy 
thrashing  the  sea  for  a  thousand  years !  A  "sucker"  who 
happened  to  be  disporting  round  the  British  Isles  when 

292 


THE  TALE  OF  A  WHALE 

Alfred  the  Great  was  burning  those  historic  cakes  and 
prefiguring  with  candles  the  eight-hour  day  may  still  be 
chasing  whale-brit  round  an  Arctic  iceberg.  The  whale 
mates,  we  are  told,  once  and  for  keeps.  Jogging  along 
from  one  ocean  end  to  another  with  the  same  wife  for  a 
thousand  years  without  turning  fluke  to  look  at  an  affinity ! 
Shades  of  Chicago  and  Pittsburg,  hide  your  wings! 
Whales  follow  their  annual  migration  as  regularly  as  do 
moose  and  caribou  on  land,  the  seal  and  salmon  in  the 
Pacific.  Seen  first  in  May  in  Bering  Strait,  the  Bow- 
heads  trend  from  here  north  and  east,  doubling  back  on 
their  westward  journey  in  July  and  August,  when  the 
Herschel  Island  whalers  go  out  to  intercept  them.  Sep- 
t-ember sees  the  great  mammals  off  Southern  Kamchatka, 
and  year  by  year  with  regularity  they  follow  this  Arctic 
orbit,  edging  farther  in  successive  seasons  to  the  north 
and  east.  The  usual  track  of  any  family  of  whales  may  be 
left  at  a  tangent  on  account  of  a  furious  storm,  excessive 
cold,  the  want  of  food,  the  harassing  of  an  enemy,  or  a 
change  in  the  season  of  their  amours. 

A  whale,  for  an  old  party,  is  not  so  slow.  Alarmed 
while  extended  motionless  at  the  surface  of  the  sea,  he 
can  sink  in  five  or  six  seconds  beyond  the  reach  of  human 
enemies.  His  velocity  along  the  surface  horizontally,  div- 
ing obliquely  or  perpendicularly,  seems  to  be  the  same,  a 
rate  of  from  twelve  to  fourteen  miles  an  hour.  Now,  to 
carry  a  whale  of  seventy-four  tons  through  the  Arctic  at 
the  rate  of  twelve  miles  an  hour  would  require  a  (sea) 
horse-power  of  one  hundred  and  forty-five.  Captain 
Scoresby,  a  whale  expert,  by  careful  calculation  estimates 
that  a  surface  of  two  square  miles  of  the  Arctic  Ocean 

293 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

contains  23,888,000,000,000,000  of  the  minute  animalculse 
on  which  the  Bowhead  feeds,  so  we  hope  there  is  enough 
to  go  round.  He  quaintly  elucidates  this  inconceivable 
number  by  explaining  that  eighty  thousand  persons  would 
have  been  employed  since  Adam  in  counting  these  little 
medusae  in  the  two  square  miles.  Why  any  one  should 
count  them  we  fail  to  conceive  and  gladly  accept  Scores- 
by's  figures. 

The  poet  tells  of  shooting  an  arrow  into  the  air  and 
"long  years  afterwards  in  an  oak  he  found  the  arrow  still 
unbroke."  Those  who  stick  harpoons  into  whales  and  suf- 
fer the  animal  to  get  away  start  floating  rumours  (a  sort 
of  cyclometer  of  the  sea)  for  their  grandsons  to  read  in 
blubbery  history  three  generations  after.  England  offered 
knighthood  and  a  bag  of  sterling  pounds  to  him  who  would 
discover  a  Northwest  Passage  connecting  the  Atlantic  and 
the  Pacific.  M'Clure  and  the  heirs  of  Sir  John  Franklin 
disputed  the  honour  of  this  achievement.  In  the  "North 
Sea"  lived  a  whale  who  exhibited  in  his  own  person  indub- 
itable proof  of  having  found  that  elusive  Anian  Strait.  At 
Herald  Island,  due  north  of  Bering  Strait,  in  1886,  a  whale 
was  caught  who  carried  round  in  his  inside  pocket  of 
blubber  the  head  of  a  harpoon  marked  Ansell  Gibbs.  The 
Ansell  Gibbs  was  wrecked  at  Marble  Island  south  of  Ches- 
terfield Inlet  on  Hudson  Bay  on  October  13,  1871.  Imag- 
ination sees  opportunity  in  this  for  establishing  hyperbo- 
rean letter-service  between  lovers  kept  apart  by  cruel  ice- 
floes. Eskimo  Evangeline  wandering  under  Northern 
Lights  seeking  Dusky  Gabriel  might  find  here  a  carrier- 
pigeon  of  utility.  Is  it  not  Pliny  who  gives  us  a  delightful 
account  of  Hippo's  enamoured  dolphin? 

294 


THE  TALE  OF  A  WHALE 

Captain  Kelly  was  the  first  to  notice  that  whales  sing. 
One  Sunday,  while  officers  from  three  ships  were  "gam- 
ming" over  their  afternoon  walrus-meat,  Kelly  dropped 
his  glass  with,  "I  hear  a  Bowhead!"  There  was  much 
chaffing  about  "Kelly's  band/'  but  Kelly  weighed  anchor 
and  went  to  find  the  band-wagon.  Every  sail  followed 
his,  and  the  result  was  the  bagging  of  three  whales. 
Among  Bowheads,  this  sing-song  is  a  call  made  by  the 
leader  of  a  school  as  he  forces  passage  through  Bering 
Sea  to  give  notice  to  those  who  follow  that  the  straits 
are  clear  of  ice.  Walruses  and  seals  and  all  true  mammals 
having  lungs  and  living  in  the  water  have  a  bark  that 
sounds  weird  enough  coming  up  from  hidden  depths. 
Every  look-out  from  a  mast-head  notices  that,  when  one 
whale  is  struck,  at  the  very  impact  of  the  harpoon  the 
whole  school  is  "gallied"  or  stampeded  as  they  hear  the 
death-song.  The  dying  swan  may  not  sing,  but  there  is 
no  doubt  about  the  ante-mortem  Valkyrie  song  of  the 
whale.  From  the  Bowhead  the  sound  comes  like  the 
drawn-out  "hoo-hoo-oo-oo-oo"  of  the  hoot-owl.  A  whaler 
stops  coiling  his  harpoon-line  to  tell  you  that  "beginning  on 
'F'  the  cry  may  rise  to  'A,'  *B/  or  even  'C'  before  slipping 
back  to  'F'  again."  He  assures  us  that,  "with  the  Hump- 
back the  tone  is  much  finer,  sounding  across  the  water 
like  the  *E'  string  of  a  violin." 

Whalers  themselves  on  this  grim  shore  die  without  re- 
quiem. Every  year  men  desert  from  the  ships.  They 
make  their  way  across  from  Herschel  to  a  mainland  of 
whose  geography  they  know  nothing,  thinking  that  once 
they  strike  the  shore  they  can  find  railway  trains  which  will 
take  them  to  the  gold-mines.  One  man,  Morand,  left  his 

295 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

ship  without  sled  or  dogs.  He  carried  only  a  gun,  twenty 
rounds  of  ammunition,  some  cigarette  papers  and  tobacco. 
In  the  spring  they  found  him  about  a  day's  journey  from 
the  ship,  frozen  to  death.  He  sat  with  his  gun  leaning 
against  his  left  arm,  and  a  cigarette  in  his  mouth.  Both 
feet  and  one  hand  were  eaten  off.  He  had  fired  off  nine 
shots,  probably  as  a  signal  which  was  never  heard. 


Breeding  Grounds  of  the  Seals 

Within  recent  years,  on  other  shores  but  this  one,  an 
innovation  has  entered  the  whaling  business.  The  mod- 
ern plan  is  to  have  shore-refineries  and  from  these  strategic 
bases  to  send  out  strongly-built  high-speed  steamers  to 
shoot  detonating  harpoons  from  a  cannon  into  the  whale. 
Such  methods  are  pursued  with  profit  on  Newfoundland 
and  Vancouver  Island  shores.  The  gun-harpoon,  the  in- 
vention of  Sven  Foyn,  a  Norwegian,  is  furnished  at  the 
point  with  a  contrivance  which,  as  it  enters  the  whale, 

296 


THE  TALE  OF  A  WHALE 

opens  out  anchor-like  flukes  which  clutch  his  vitals.  Con- 
nected by  a  line  to  the  whaling-steamer,  the  harpoon  holds 
the  quarry  until  the  whaler  steams  alongside,  when  the 
"fish"  is  soon  dispatched.  A  nozzle  is  attached  to  the  har- 
poon-wound, and  hot  air  from  the  engine  pumped  into  the 
"proposition"  keeps  it  afloat.  The  Vancouver  Island  sta- 
tion has  bagged  as  many  as  five  whales  in  one  day, — 
Cachalots,  Humpbacks,  and  Sulphur-Bottoms. 

The  Eskimo  say,  "There  is  no  part  of  a  seal  that  is 
not  good,"  and  the  same  applies  to  whales.  Blubber  and 
bone  have  their  regular  markets.  The  viscera,  scraps  of 
fat  and  oddments  tried  out  in  fiery  furnaces,  appear  in  the 
form  of  pungent  snuff-like  powder,  a  much-sought  fertil- 
iser. From  the  Vancouver  Island  stations  it  goes  across 
to  enrich  the  cane-fields  of  Honolulu  and  the  rose-gardens 
of  Nippon.  The  Japs  are  eager  customers  for  the  dried 
or  smoked  whale-meat;  and  whale-steak  broiled  to  a  turn 
can  scarcely  be  distinguished  from  choice  porterhouse, 
since  it  is  absolutely  free  from  fishy  taste.  Far  back  in  the 
fourteenth  century  the  Biscayans  made  whale-venison  their 
staple,  and  Norway  to-day  has  more  than  one  establish- 
ment which  turns  out  canned  whale.  Newfoundlanders 
find  whale-meat  a  welcome  change  from  cod  perpetual,  and 
I  have  seen  the  Indians  of  Cape  Flattery  eat  it  when  it 
hailed  you  a  mile  to  windward  and  had  more  than  begun 
to  twine  like  a  giddy  honeysuckle.  Now,  enterprising 
people  are  talking  of  canning  whales'  milk,  a  dense  yellow 
fluid  like  soft  tallow.  When  the  milk-maid  goes  out  to 
milk  a  whale  she  must  take  half  a  dozen  barrels  along  as 
milking  pails.  The  Eskimo  like  it.  Soon  the  soda-foun- 
tains on  Fort  Macpherson  and  Herschel  Island  will  bear 
21  297 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

the  legend,  "Whale  cream  soda"  and  "Best  Whale  Milk- 
shake." 

To  have  an  even  superficial  knowledge  of  the  commercial 
products  of  the  whale,  one  must  learn  of  baleen,  of  whale- 
oils  and  spermaceti,  of  ambergris,  whale-guano,  whale- 
ivory,  and  whale-leather. 

What  dp  we  do  with  baleen?  It  so  combines  lightness, 
elasticity,  and  flexibility,  that  nothing  yet  invented  adapts 
itself  so  perfectly  to  all  the  requirements  of  the  fashion- 
able corset.  Whalebone  whips  are  made  from  single 
pieces  of  baleen  seven  or  eight  feet  long.  A  whalebone 
horsewhip  costs  from  fifteen  to  eighteen  dollars  and  will 
outlast  a  dozen  cheaper  persuaders.  The  Sairy  Gamp  um- 
brella of  the  last  generation,  which  boasted  whalebone 
ribs,  never  "broke  its  mighty  heart"  in  a  rainstorm  (and 
incidentally  could  never  be  shut  up  tight).  Flexible  steel 
has  taken  the  place  of  whalebone  in  many  of  the  arts ;  but 
new  avenues  of  usefulness  open  up  to  baleen.  Out  of  it 
artificial  feathers  of  exquisite  lightness  and  wigs  or  toupees 
are  made.  Shredded  into  fine  filaments,  baleen  is  now 
woven  in  with  the  other  fibres  in  the  manufacture  of  the 
finest  French  silks,  imparting  resilience  and  elasticity  to 
the  rich  material.  A  Chicago  paper  of  the  date  of  this 
writing  advertises : 

WHALEBONE  TEETH  $5 
A  GREAT  DISCOVERY 

THE    NEW    WHALEBONE    PLATE    WHICH    IS    THE    LIGHTEST 
AND  STRONGEST  SET   KNOWN 

DOES   NOT   COVER  THE  ROOF  OF  THE   MOUTH 

'  Guaranteed  ten  years 

YOU  BITE  CORN  OFF  THE  COB 

298 


THE  TALE  OF  A  WHALE 

Spermaceti,  the  solid  waxy  body  carried  round  in  the 
Cachalot's  head  in  solution,  is  a  valuable  whale-product. 
Bland  and  demulcent,  spermaceti  is  employed  as  an  ingre- 
dient in  ointments,  cosmetics,  and  cerates.  Spermaceti 
candles  of  definite  size  form  the  measure  of  electric  light, 
giving  rise  to  the  phrase  "of  so  many  candle-power." 
Present-day  spermaceti  is  both  a  saving  and  a  destructive 
agent.  Large  quantities  of  it  are  used  in  Europe  in  the 
manufacture  of  ecclesiastical  candles,  and  part  of  the  same 
consignment  may  help  to  make  self-lubricating  cartridges. 

Most  valuable  of  all  whale-products,  the  costliest  com- 
modity on  this  earth  ounce  for  ounce  with  the  one  excep- 
tion of  radium,  is  ambergris.  As  amber  was  once  con- 
sidered "the  frozen  tears  of  seagulls,"  so  ambergris  for 
ages  puzzled  the  ancients.  Some  called  it  "the  solidified 
foam  of  the  sea,"  with  others  it  was  a  "fungoidal  growth 
of  the  ocean  analogous  to  that  on  trees."  When  people 
in  the  old  days  came  across  anything  exceedingly  costly 
they  wanted  to  eat  it,  on  the  same  principle  which  makes 
the  baby  put  each  new  gift  into  his  mouth.  So  we  have 
historic  record  of  pearl  soup  a  la  Cleopatra,  and  dishes 
dashed  with  ambergris.  Milton  sings  of,— 

"Beasts  of  chase,  or  fowl  of  game, 
In  pastry  built,  or  from  the  spit,  or  boiled, 
Grisamber-steamed." 

What  is  this  choice  tidbit  ?  It  is  a  morbid  secretion  of 
the  intestines  of  the  sick  Sperm-whale,  and  sells  for  from 
thirty  to  forty  dollars  an  ounce.  Ambergris,  if  discov- 
ered in  the  animal  itself,  is  always  in  a  dead  or  dying  body, 
but  it  is  usually  found  floating  on  the  ocean  or  cast  up 

299 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

on  the  shore.  Many  a  day,  as  kiddies  on  Vancouver  Island 
beaches,  have  we  turned  over  bunches  of  kelp,  trying  to 
smell  out  that  solid,  fatty,  inflammable  dull  grey  substance 
with  its  sweet  earthy  odour.  The  present-day  use  of  am- 
bergris is  to  impart  to  perfumes  a  floral  fragrance.  It  has 
the  power  to  intensify  and  fix  any  odour.  In  pharmacy,  it 
is  regarded  as  a  cardiac  and  anti-spasmodic  and  as  a  spe- 
cific against  the  rabies.  For  years  it  has  been  used  in 
sacerdotal  rites  of  the  'church ;  and  suitors  of  old  times 
sought  with  it  to  charm  their  mistresses.  The  dying 
sperm,  spouting  up  the  ghost,  offers  of  his  very  vitals  to 
aid  the  lover  and  serve  the  church. 

Fascinating  are  the  finds  of  ambergris.  The  barque 
Sea-Pox  of  New  Bedford,  in  1866,  off  the  coast  of  Arabia, 
took  a  one  hundred  and  fifty-six  pound  mass  of  ambergris, 
which  was  sold  to  the  Arabs  of  Zanzibar  for  ten  thousand 
dollars  in  gold.  The  Adeline  Gibbs,  in  the  same  year,  took 
one  hundred  and  thirty-two  pounds  from  a  bull-sperm 
south  of  St.  Helena,  and  sold  the  hunk  for  twenty-three 
thousand  dollars.  Three  winters  ago  an  Arctic  whaling- 
crew  put  into  Seattle,  and  there  leaked  out  the  interesting 
story  of  how,  not  recognising  the  priceless  unguent,  they 
had  greased  their  oars,  masts,  and  knee-boots  with  "a  big 
lump  of  ambergrease." 

In  modern  whaling  not  an  ounce  of  the  carcase  is  cast 
as  rubbish  to  the  void.  The  intestines  make  a  soft  kid 
which  takes  any  dye  and  is  largely  used  for  artistic  leather- 
work.  The  size  of  these  immense  strips  makes  possible 
splendid  belts  for  machinery  with  a  minimum  of  joinings. 
The  chemically-macerated  bones  are  turned  into  an  "inde- 
structible" crockery-ware  which  is  far  more  enduring  than 

300 


THE  TALE  OF  A  WHALE 

anything  made  of  vegetable-fibre.  The  Beluga  gives  us 
the  best  shoe-strings  in  the  world.  You  can  lace  your 
shoes  with  a  Beluga  lace  for  two  years  and  be  sure  it  will 
not  break  the  morning  you  are  in  an  especial  hurry  to 
catch  an  inter-Reuben  train. 

An  interest  attaches  to  living  whales  which  outweighs 
the  fascination  with  which  we  study  their  dead  parts. 
Each  species  of  the  whale  propagates  with  one  of  its  own 
species  only.  The  fidelity  of  whales  to  each  other  exceeds 
the  constancy  of  birds.  The  whale  mother  gives  birth 
to  one  calf,  and  in  extremely  rare  cases  two  calves,  pro- 
ducing every  second  year,  the  young  being  born  between 
the  end  of  March  and  the  beginning  of  May.  When  the 
mother  suckles  her  young  she  throws  herself  on  one  side 
on  the  surface  of  the  sea  and  the  calf  regularly  feeds  at 
the  breast  (like  a  young  Eskimo)  for  nearly  two  years. 
During  this  time  the  baby  is  extremely  fat  and  the  mother 
correspondingly  emaciated.  Perhaps  nothing  in  nature 
is  more  touching  than  the  devotion  of  a  female  whale  to 
its  wounded  young.  Whalers  harpoon  the  babe  at  the 
breast  so  that  they  may  afterwards  secure  the  dam.  In 
this  case,  the  mother  joins  the  wounded  young  under  the 
surface  of  the  water,  comes  up  with  it  when  it  rises  to 
breathe,  encourages  it  to  swim  off,  assists  its  flight  by 
taking  it  under  her  fin,  and  seldom  deserts  it  while  life 
remains. 

Unless  the  Circumpolar  Bowhead  is  to  become  extinct 
within  a  decade,  the  thinking  world  should  strengthen  the 
hands  of  the  Canadian  authorities  in  an  effort  to  put  a 
close  season  for  four  or  five  years  on  the  great  Arctic 
Baleen  Whale.  At  their  rate  of  reproduction  it  is  not  so 

301 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

easy  to  restock  a  whale  pasture  as  a  salmon  stream.  Cut- 
ting down  a  whale  which  has  taken  ten  centuries  to  grow 
is  like  cutting  down  an  oak-tree  with  a  thousand  concentric 
rings.  You  cannot  in  one  or  two  or  twenty  scant  genera- 
tions of  man  grow  another  one  to  take  its  place. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

SOUTH  FROM  THE  ARCTIC  TO  CHIPEV/YAN 

"The  old  lost  stars  wheel  back,  dear  lass, 
That  blaze  in  the  velvet  blue. 
They're  God's  own  guides  on  the  Long  Trail — 
The  trail  that  is  always  new." 

— Kipling. 

A  tax  on  tea  caused  the  revolt  of  the  thirteen  Colonies, 
a  taunting  load  of  tennis-balls  lost  France  to  the  Dauphin. 
Eighty  years  ago  on  this  Arctic  edge,  white  beads,  or  the 
lack  of  them,  lost  a  lucrative  fur-trade,  alienated  the 
Loucheux  and  caused  the  death  of  whites.  "Trifles  make 
the  sum  of  human  things." 

The  old  records  tell  the  story.  John  Bell  from  Fort 
Good  Hope,  under  date  of  August  i4th,  1827,  writes  to 
the  Factor  at  Fort  Simpson: 

"The  beads  sent  in  for  the  Loucheux  trade  are  not  sufficiently 
large  to  please  them.  I  request  you  will  endeavour  to  send  in  the 
largest  size  for  the  trade  of  the  ensuing  year.  A  specimen  of  the 
kind  wanted  I  send  enclosed." 

The  Factor  at  Fort  Simpson,  under  date  of  November 
22nd  of  the  same  year,  writes  to  the  Governor  and  Chief 
Factors  at  Montreal: 

"I  now  forward  a  specimen  of  the  common  white  beads  wanted 
for  the  trade  with  the  Loucheux  Indians.  It  is  their  request  and 
I  hope  it  will  be  attended  to.  I  would  not  venture  to  make  the 
demand,  were  it  not  from  conviction  that  without  this  favourite 

303 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

article  these  Indians  look  with  indifference  on  the  best  of  our  goods. 
No  other  ornamental  article  is  ever  asked  for  or  wanted  by  these 
natives." 

The  same  official  on  March  I5th,  1828,  pleads  with 
Montreal : 

"The  white  beads  demanded  for  the  Loucheux  trade  I  hope 
will  be  sent,  and  of  the  size  according  to  sample  enclosed.  May  I 
use  the  freedom  of  representing  the  importance  of  getting  this 
article  to  the  liking  of  the  Indians,  to  come  up  by  the  Montreal 
canoes  and  be  ready  for  outfit  1829?  Three  kegs  will  contain  the 
quantity  required,  200  to  250  pounds." 

Again  on  the  29th  of  November,  1829,  he  writes  Mon- 
treal : 

"The  White  Beads  asked  for  the  trade  with  the  Loucheux  are 
not  according  to  the  order  sent,  15  pounds  only  of  the  quantity 
received  (200  pounds)  are  of  the  proper  size,  the  remainder  being 
the  same  as  those  in  outfit  1825  so  much  complained  of.  They 
will  not  be  satisfactory  to  the  Indians.  We  request  you  will  be 
pleased  to  make  a  strong  representation  to  their  Honours  at  Home 
that  this  article  be  sent  according  to  order  and  sample.  We  now 
conceive  to  say  anything  further  would  be  tiresome." 

The  Fort  Simpson  Factor  on  March  I9th,  1830,  reports 
to  Montreal: 

"The  goods  came.  The  white  beads  was  too  small  and  not  ac- 
cording to  order  or  sample  asked  for.  The  Indians  would  not 
take  them  and  left  the  Fort  dissatisfied." 

The  Trader  at  Fort  Good  Hope  augments  the  story  by 
recording  that  the  Indians  would  be  better  pleased  in 
trade  with  two  small  kegs  of  the  special  beads  they  wanted 
than  with  half  a  ton  of  any  other  trade  goods  which  Lon- 
don could  manufacture  and  send  out.  The  sequel  of  the 

304 


SOUTH  FROM  ARCTIC  TO  CHIPEWYAN 

story  is  that,  disappointed  time  and  again  in  not  getting 
their  favourite  beads,  the  Loucheux  Indians  failed  to  bring 
in  the  autumn  supply  of  meat  to  Fort  Good  Hope  and  in 
consequence,  before  the  snows  of  the  winter  of  1831  had 
melted,  many  of  the  white  men  attached  to  that  post  died 
of  starvation. 

We  had  gone  North  with  the  birds  in  spring  and  now, 


The  Keele  Party  on  the  Gravel  River 

as  we  turn  our  faces  homeward,  the  first  migrants  with 
strong  wing  are  beginning  their  southward  flight.  Our 
travel  is  against  current  now,  for  we  make  slower  time  than 
we  did  coming  in  and  consequently  see  more  of  the  passing 
shore-line.  The  last  specimens  we  gather  within  the  Arc- 
tic Circle  are  the  blue  blossoms  of  the  flax.  In  them  we 
see  the  earnest  of  many  a  cultivated  farm  of  the  future. 
The  days  are  getting  perceptibly  shorter  and  one  by  one 
the  old  familiar  constellations  come  back  in  the  heavens. 

305 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

We  find  it  a  relief  to  have  once  more  a  twilight  and  a 
succeeding  period  of  dusk.  Yet  are  we  loath  to  leave  this 
fascinating  North  with  its  sure  future,  its  quaint  to-days, 
and  all  the  glamour  of  its  rich  past. 

We  had  just  passed  Fort  Norman  when  the  sharp  eyes 
of  an  Indian  deck-hand  saw  three  figures  on  the  beach 
ahead.  Pulling  in  at  the  point  where  the  Gravel  River 
joins  the  Mackenzie,  we  find  a  regular  Robinson  Crusoe 
group, — Mr.  J.  Keele,  of  the  Dominion  Government  Sur- 
vey, and  his  two  associates.  Going  in  on  the  Yukon  side, 
Mr.  Keele's  task  has  been  to  cross  the  Divide  between  the 
Yukon  and  the  Mackenzie,  mapping  the  rocks.  The  only 
white  man  they  had  seen  in  sixteen  months  was  a  French 
priest  who  had  passed  yesterday,  and  whose  knowledge 
of  current  events  in  Canada  and  Europe  was  scanty.  They 
were  glad  to  see  us.  A  moose-skin  boat  showed  how 
they  had  run  the  rough  Gravel;  the  meat  of  two  moose 
smoked  over  the  camp-fire;  their  dogs  were  fat.  These 
are  men  who  know  the  woods — no  hard-luck  story 
here.  It  needs  only  Friday's  funny  fat  umbrella  to  com- 
plete the  picture,  with  the  goat  scampering  in  the  middle 
distance. 

Coming  on  board,  the  surveyors  are  greedy  for  news- 
papers, and  we  in  return  learn  somewhat  of  that  great 
slice  of  land  which  they  are  the  first  to  traverse.  The 
Gravel  River  is  two  hundred  and  fifty-five  miles  long,  with 
"white  water"  all  the  way.  The  force  of  the  current  may 
be  appreciated  from  the  fact  that  it  is  forty-four  hundred 
feet  above  the  sea-level  at  the  Height-of-Land  and  only 
four  hundred  feet  here  where  it  enters  the  Mackenzie.  All 
along  the  banks  of  the  Gravel  are  moose,  mountain  sheep, 

306 


SOUTH  FROM  ARCTIC  TO  CHIPEWYAN 

and  caribou.  The  winter  cabin  of  the  party  was  built 
on  the  Ross  River  and  there,  during  the  past  winter,  they 
experienced  a  temperature  of  54°  below.  A  party  of  this 
kind  must  be  to  a  large  extent  self-supporting,  as  it  would 
be  impossible  to  carry  from  the  outside  food  for  such  a 
long  sojourn.  Speaking  with  Mr.  Keele,  one  is  forcibly 
struck  with  the  fact  that  what  the  technical  schools  teach 
their  students  forms  but  a  small  part  of  the  equipment  of 
the  man  who  would  do  field  work  in  Northern  Canada- 
packing,  tracking,  hunting,  and  breaking  trail, — each  man 
must  do  his  share  of  these. 

The  Keele  party  on  the  great  watershed,  as  they  trav- 
elled east,  crossed  two  families  of  Mackenzie  River  In- 
dians going  westward  to  hunt,  on  the  west  side  of  the 
ridge,  the  marten  and  the  beaver.  It  was  32°  below,  and 
cold.  The  whole  families  were  on  the  march,  a  little  baby 
tucked  in  the  curve  of  the  sled,  and  tottering  on  foot  an  old, 
old  woman,  bent  and  wrinkled  and  scarcely  able  to  move. 
As  the  Indians  were  on  their  return  journey  toward  the 
Mackenzie  in  spring,  the  Keele  party  saw  them  again. 
But  the  old  woman  was  not  there.  Under  some  lonely 
mound  where  snow  falls  in  winter  and  the  leaves  of  birch 
and  cottonwood  flutter  down  in  the  shrieking  winds  of 
autumn  rest  the  bones  of  the  old  woman,  her  many  jour- 
neys ended.  The  wearer  of  a  costly  fur  coat  in  the  glit- 
tering capitals  of  the  Old  World  seldom  stops  to  conjec- 
ture how  much  of  hardship,  patient  suffering,  and  loneli- 
ness go  to  the  making  of  that  luxurious  garment.  In  or- 
der that  one  might  be  warmly  clad,  many  have  gone  cold, 
more  than  one  sad,  tired,  old  head  has  lain  down  for  the 
last  time  by  the  lonely  camp-fire. 

307 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Sad  is  the  lot  of  the  Indian  woman  of  the  North.  Fated 
always  to  play  a  secondary  part  in  the  family  drama,  it 
is  hard  to  see  what  of  pleasure  life  holds  for  her.  The 
birth  of  a  girl  baby  is  not  attended  with  joy  or  thankful- 
ness. From  the  beginning  the  little  one  is  pushed  into 
the  background.  The  boy  babies,  even  the  dogs,  have  the 
choicer  bed  at  night,  and  to  them  are  given  the  best  pieces 
of  the  meat.  The  little  girl  is  made  to  feel  that  she  has 
come  into  a  world  that  has  no  welcome  for  her  and  her 
whole  life  seems  to  be  an  apology.  You  read  it  in  the 
face  of  every  Indian  girl  or  woman  you  meet,  from  the 
shrinking  pathetic  little  figure  in  the  camp  to  the  bent  old 
crone,  whose  upturned  face  with  its  sadly  acceptive  look 
gives  you  the  flicker  of  a  smile. 

Storm-stayed  at  Wrigley  Harbour  at  the  entrance  to 
Great  Slave  Lake,  we  have  some  splendid  fishing, — jack- 
fish,  whitefish,  loche,  inconnu,  "and  here  and  there  a  lusty 
trout  and  here  and  there  a  grayling."  Within  an  hour  I 
get  fifteen  graylings  to  my  own  rod.  Collectively  they 
weigh  just  a  little  over  thirty  pounds.  Swimming  against 
the  current,  they  take  the  fly  eagerly ;  and  one  cannot  hope 
to  land  a  more  gaudy  or  more  gamy  fish.  Its  big  dorsal 
fin  is  rainbow-tinct,  the  tail  an  iridescent  blue,  and  the 
scales  pure  mother-of-pearl.  Mr.  Keele  has  had  "The 
Complete  Angler"  for  two  years  with  him  in  the  fastnesses, 
and  as  he  helps  us  prepare  the  catch  for  our  evening  meal 
over  the  coals,  quotes  blithely  that  the  grayling  is  eating  fit 
only  for  "anglers  and  other  honest  men." 

The  traverse  of  Great  Slave  Lake  in  the  teeth  of  a  wind 
is  not  without  its  interest,  for  the  new  steamer  has  yet  to 
be  tried  in  the  waters  of  what  practically  amounts  to  an 

308 


SOUTH  FROM  ARCTIC  TO  CHIPEWYAN 

open  sea.     She  behaves  well,  and  brings  us  dry-shod  into 
Fort  Rae. 

We  are  the  first  white  women  who  have  penetrated  to 
Fort  Rae,  and  we  afford  as  much  interest  to  the  Indians 
as  they  afford  us.  Lone  Fort  Rae,  clinging  to  the  North- 
ern Arm  of  Great  Slave  Lake,  was  noted  in  the  past  as  a 


The   First  Type-writer   on   Great   Slave   Lake 

"meat-post."  It  supplied  the  Mackenzie  District  with 
dried  caribou-meat,  and  formed  an  outfitting  point  for  the 
few  bis:  o-ame  hunters  who  trended  east  from  here  into  the 

o   o 

Barren  Grounds  seeking  the  musk-ox.  Its  foundation 
dates  back  to  some  time  before  the  year  1820.  We  cross 
a  bridge  of  clever  Indian  construction  and  sit  for  a  while 
to  muse  on  a  flat  boulder  of  primal  rock.  This  stands  as 
bell-tower  to  a  quaint  bell  cast  in  Rome  and  bears  an  in- 

309 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

scription  to  some  dead  and  gone  Pope.  The  missionary 
priest  over  half  a  century  ago  paddled  in  here  bringing  the 
Gospel  to  the  Dog-Ribs. 

The  musk-ox  (Ovibos  moschatus)  is  a  gregarious  ani- 
mal which  would  appear  to  be  a  Creator's  after-thought, 
—something  between  an  ox  and  a  sheep.     The  long  hair 


The  Bell  at  Fort  Rae  Mission 


hanging  down  from  the  body  foreshortens  the  appearance 
of  the  legs  and  gives  a  cjuaint  look  to  the  moving  herd. 
The  present  range  of  the  musk-ox  is  from  Fort  Rae  north 
to  the  Arctic  and  between  the  meridians  of  86°  and  125°. 
As  it  is  the  most  inaccessible  game  in  the  world,  there 
would  seem  to  be  no  immediate  fear  of  its  being  hunted 
to  extinction.  Toothed  like  a  sheep,  footed  like  an  ox, 
tailed  like  a  bear,  and  maned  like  a  horse,  the  musk-ox 

310 


SOUTH  FROM  ARCTIC  TO  CHIPEWYAN 

does  not  circle  up  wind  as  the  moose  and  caribou  do,  but 
travels  in  any  direction  he  sees  fit.  Each  little  herd  of 
ten  or  fifteen  bunches  up,  tails  to  the  middle  and  horns 
outside,  to  meet  a  common  danger.  The  robe  of  the  musk- 
ox  is  a  rich,  dark  brown  streaked  with  grey,  the  hair  all 
over  the  body  being  very  long,  with  a  coat  of  mouse- 


The  Musk-ox 

coloured  wool  at  its  base.  According  to  the  Indians,  the 
single  young  of  the  musk-ox  is  born  in  April.  The  mother 
buries  the  calf  in  the  snow  as  soon  as  it  is  born,  selecting 
a  sheltered  place  for  the  cradle.  Three  days  after  its 
post-natal  burial  it  is  able  to  frisk  with  its  dam  and  begin 
to  take  up  the  musk-calf's  burden. 

We  are  all  day  and  all  night  crossing  Great  Slave  Lake 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

from  Fort  Rae  to  Fort  Resolution.  Food  values  and  the 
outgoing  cargo  of  fur  are  the  topics  of  conversation. 
Years  ago  a  delicate  baby  at  Rae  required  milk,  and  with 
trouble  and  expense  a  cow  was  evolved  from  somewhere 
and  deposited  at  the  front  door  of  the  H.  B.  Co.  Factor 
there — a  cow  but  no  cow-food.  All  animals  must  learn  to 
be  adaptable  in  the  North.  She  was  fed  on  fish  and  dried 
meat,  lived  happily,  and  produced  milk  after  her  kind. 
One  of  Mr.  Keele's  men  tells  of  a  horse  on  the  Yukon  side 
which  ate  bacon-rinds  with  a  relish.  The  dogs  at  Smith 
eat  raspberries,  climb  trees  for  a  succulent  moss,  and  when 
times  are  really  hard  become  burglars,  burgling  bacon  in 
the  night  season,  and  even  being  ghoulish  enough  to  visit 
Indian  cemeteries  to  pick  a  bone  with  the  dead.  A  dog 
in  the  North  Country  is  surely  qualifying  for  some  canine 
heaven  in  the  asphodel  meadows.  I  know  of  no  created 
being  who  is  undergoing  a  sterner  probation  than  this 
creature  forced  by  man  and  the  exigencies  of  Fate  to 
work  like  a  horse  in  winter  and  live  on  air  in  summer. 

From  Great  Slave  Lake  to  Chipewyan  the  days  are 
enlivened  with  stories  from  the  outgoing  traders.  We 
learn  that  when  the  church  was  still  young,  some  priests  on 
the  Mackenzie  hungered  after  flesh-pots  in  the  wilderness 
and  wrote  to  the  Pope,  asking  him  whether  beaver-tails 
were  to  be  considered  fish,  or  flesh.  Rome  evidently  was 
not  "long"  on  North  American  mammals  and  put  itself 
into  the  class  of  Nature  fakers  forever  by  declaring  said 
tails  "fish"  and  not  flesh.  This  is  why  you  can  discuss 
beaver-tails  on  top  of  the  world  on  Fridays  to  this  present 
and  commit  no  sin. 

The  stories  give  us  some  idea  of  the  difference  between 

312 


SOUTH  FROM  ARCTIC  TO  CHIPEWYAN 

winter  and  summer  travel  across  Great  Slave  Lake.  Cap- 
tain Mills  tells  of  two  Indian  women,  one  old  enough  to 
have  a  daughter  of  forty,  who  drove  a  dogsled  one  hun- 
dred and  forty-eight  miles  from  Providence  to  Rae,  in  four 
days.  The  older  one  walked  ahead  of  the  dogs  and  made 
the  trail  while  the  other  drove.  Coming  back,  it  took  them 
five  days,  and  the  old  woman  explained,  "We  didn't  make 
such  good  time,  as  we  had  a  man  with  us."  It  was  her 
son-in-law  whom  she  brought  back  with  her. 

A  striking  picture  is  given  us  of  a  woman  who  walked 
alone  from  Hay  River  to  Province  on  snowshoes,  taking 
thirteen  days  to  do  it.  She  had  no  matches,  and  carried 
her  fire  with  her,  keeping  it  alight  in  a  little  copper  kettle. 
This,  of  course,  necessitated  her  guarding  it  very  closely 
and  stopping  to  renew  the  fire  from  time  to  time;  for  if 
the  burning  wood  was  once  permitted  to  die  down,  her 
life  in  that  intense  cold  would  go  out  with  it. 

How  cold  does  it  get?  Mr.  Campbell  Young,  of  our 
little  group,  says  that  he  has  been  out  when  a  thermometer 
—one  obtained  from  the  U.  S.  Meteorological  Station- 
registered  seventy-six  degrees  below  zero,  and  has  worked 
in  weather  like  that.  "I've  been  trapping  in  that  tempera- 
ture, when  of  course  the  weather  was  absolutely  still,  and 
I  tell  you  I'd  rather  be  out  in  seventy-six  below  than  to 
cross  Smith  Portage  with  the  mosquitoes."  Mr.  Christie, 
of  the  Keele  Survey  Party,  says,  "Last  winter  I  had  to 
go  out  and  get  a  moose  for  the  camp,  and  on  the  second 
day  I  met  the  Mounted  Police  boys  who  told  me  it  had  been 
seventy-five  below.  I  had  started  out  when  it  was  quite 
mild,  only  forty-five  below.  You  know  when  it  is  below 
fifty,  for  then  your  breath  begins  to  crackle,  and  that's  a 
22  313 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

sure  sign."  Mr.  John  Gaudet  says,  "I  was  driving  last 
winter  on  Lesser  Slave  Lake  when  it  was  sixty-four  below. 
Yes,  it  was  quite  cold." 

At  Resolution  we  see  once  more  our  old  friend  Dr.  Sus- 
sex, happy  and  busied  among  his  Indians.  It  is  just  hail 
and  farewell.  The  little  "red  lemonade"  kiddies  are  the 
first  to  greet  us  as  we  come  into  Fort  Smith,  and  here  every- 
body goes  visiting.  Mrs.  (Archdeacon)  Macdonald  tells 
us  that  her  grandfather  had  two  wives,  and  was  the  father 
of  twenty-two  children.  She  says  she  and  her  brother  are 
glad  of  this,  as  it  gives  them  so  many  friends  in  all  parts 
of  the  country;  and  we  notice  that  at  every  port  where 
we  stop  Mrs.  MacDonald  has  friends  to  visit — a  cousin 
here,  and  an  auntie  there.  The  fancy  bag  in  which  you 
carry  your  calling  cards  and  little  friendly  gifts  up  here  is 
a  "musky-moot";  the  more  formidable  receptacle,  which 
gives  your  friends  warning  that  you  may  stay  a  day  or  two, 
is  a  "skin-ichi-mun."  Visiting  a  little  on  our  own  account, 
we  note  that  we  have  penetrated  to  a  latitude  into  which 
the  gaudy  calendars  of  the  advertiser  have  not  yet  made 
their  way.  Each  man,  foolish  enough  here  to  want  a 
calendar,  marks  out  his  own  on  pencilled  paper.  We  come 
across  an  H.  B.  Journal  of  the  vintage  of  1826  where  the 
reckless  scribe  introduces  two  Thursdays  into  one  week, 
acknowledging  his  error  in  a  footnote  with  the  remark, 
"It  is  not  likely  that  the  eye  of  man  will  ever  read  this 
record." 

At  Fort  Smith  we  leave  the  steamer  Mackenzie  River 
to  take  passage  in  the  Grahame  from  Smith's  Landing, 
and  once  more  essay  the  Mosquito  Portage.  We  find  our 
winged  friends  in  fine  fettle.  Their  eyes  are  not  dimmed, 


SOUTH  FROM  ARCTIC  TO  CHIPEWYAN 

their  strength  not  abated.  For  miles  we  notice  blackened 
and  dead  stems  of  young  spruce,  cut  off  as  if  by  machinery, 
at  a  uniform  height  of  two  and  a  half  feet  from  the  ground. 
The  top  of  the  dead  stem  shows  the  depth  of  the  snow 
when  the  rabbits,  running  along  the  surface,  had  nibbled 
off  and  eaten  the  growing  spruce.  A  fur-trader  at  our 
side  says,  "While  at  Fort  Macpherson  I  noticed  that  the 
ice  always  melted  in  the  spring  in  Peel's  River  before  it 
did  in  the  Mackenzie.  It  would  break  up  in  the  Peel  about 
the  Queen's  Birthday  and  begin  to  go  out.  Reaching  the 
Mackenzie,  it  came  up  against  a  solid  mass  of  unbroken 
ice  which  sent  it  back  to  flood  the  whole  country.  It  was 
a  curious  experience  to  paddle  round  in  a  canoe  for  miles 
and  miles  where  one  had  set  rabbit  snares  but  a  few  weeks 
before.  The  poor  rabbits  themselves  were  at  a  loss,  for  no 
kind  monition  apprised  them  of  the  coming  flood.  We 
could  see  whole  colonies  of  them, — each  a  shipwrecked 
sailor  on  his  own  little  raft  of  bark,  buffeted  here  and  there 
with  the  stream  and  peering  out  across  the  swollen  waters, 
like  Noah's  dove,  seeking  some  green  thing." 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

TO   MCMURRAY  AND  BACK  TO  THE  PEACE 

"Think  o'  the  stories  round  the  camp,  the  yarns  along  the  track— 
O'  Lesser  Slave  an'  Herschel's  Isle  an'  Flynn  at  Fond  du  Lac ; 
Of  fur  an'  gun,  an'  ranch  an'  run,  an'  moose  and  caribou, 
An'  bull-dogs  eatin'  us  to  death!     Good-bye — good  luck  to  you!" 

Our  arrival  at  Chipewyan  is  opportune.  Honorine 
Daniels,  unceremoniously  known  as  'Norine  among  her 
friends  (and  they  are  legion),  is  about  to  join  hand  and 
fortune  with  one  of  the  Mercredi  boys.  'Norine  owns  a 
cottage  in  her  own  right,  and  to-night  under  her  roof-tree 
there  is  to  be  a  wedding-dance.  We  wait  round,  hungering 
for  an  invitation,  finally  to  be  told  largely,  "You  don't  need 
no  invitation,  everybody  goes." 

We  go  with  the  crowd.  The  room  is  full  to  overflowing. 
Babies  are  deposited  on  the  benches  along  the  wall,  dogs 
look  in  at  the  window.  The  air  is  heavy  with  mosquitoes 
and  tobacco-smoke.  But  joy  reigns.  Nobody  is  too  old 
or  too  obese  to  dance.  Old  Mr.  Loutit  and  lame  Jimmy 
Flett  each  secures  a  sonsy  partner.  There  are  three  fid- 
dlers, and  these  relieve  each  other  in  turn,  for  fiddling, 
beating  time  with  your  moccasin  on  the  earthen  floor,  and 
"calling  out"  is  hard  work  for  one  man.  There  are  but 
two  kinds  of  dances, — the  Red  River  jig,  and  a  square 
dance  which  probably  had  for  honourable  ancestors  the 
lancers  on  the  father's  side  and  a  quadrille  on  the  mother's. 

Endurance  is  a  sign  of  merit  in  the  Red  River  jig.  A 

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TO  McMURRAY  AND  BACK  TO  THE  PEACE 

man  or  woman  steps  into  the  limelight  and  commences  to 
jig,  a  dark  form  in  moccasins  slips  up  in  front  of  the 
dancer,  and  one  jigs  the  other  down,  amid  plaudits  for 
the  survivor  and  jeers  for  the  quitter. 

It  is  the  square  dance  that  interests  us,  our  attention 
being  divided  between  watching  the  deft  forms  in  the  half 
light  and  listening  to  the  caller-off.  Louie-the-Moose  first 
officiates.  His  eyes  look  dreamy  but  there  is  a  general's 
stern  tone  of  command  in  his  words: 

"Ladeez,  join  de  lily-white  ban's, 
Gents,  your  black-and-tan ! 
Ladeez,   bow !     Gents,   bow-wow  ! 
Swing  'em  as  hard's  ye  can. 

"Swing  your  corner  Lady, 
Then  the  one  you  love ! 
Then   your   corner   Lady, 
Then  your  Turtle  Dove !" 

Over  and  over  again  Louie  reiterates  his  injunction,  to  the 
accompaniment  of  pattering  moccasins  and  a  humming 
chorus  from  door  and  windows.  There  are  phrases  of 
variation,  too.  We  catch  the  words,  "Address  your  pard- 
ner,"  "A daman  left''  "Show  your  steps''  "Gents  walk 
round,  and  all  run  away  to  the  west." 

Then  Michel  Manvil  takes  hold  of  the  situation.  He 
stands  up  to  it,  and  we  hear 

"Ladies  round  ladies,  and  gents  all  so! 
Ladies  round  gents,  and  gents  don't  go!" 

Why  should  they,  we  wonder ! 

The  third  fiddler  is  a  full-blooded  Chipewyan.     In  some 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

dancing  academy  in  the  woods  he  has  learnt  a  "call-off" 
all  his  own,  and  proud  indeed  is  he  of  his  stunt.  We  man- 
age to  copy  it  down  in  its  entirety,  fighting  mosquitoes  the 
while  and  dodging  out  into  the  open  now  and  again  for 
a  little  air. 

'  'Slute  your  ladies  !     All  together ! 

Ladies  opposite,  the  same — 
Hit  the  lumber  with  yer  leathers, 

Balance  all,  and  swing  yer  dame! 
Bunch  the  moose-cows  in  the  middle ! 

Circle,  stags,  and  do-si-do — 
Pay  attention  to  the  fiddle ! 

Swing  her  round,  an'  off  you  go! 

"First  four  forward !     Back  to  places ! 

Second  foller — shuffle  back! 
Now  you've  got  it  down  to  cases — 

Swing  'em  till  their  back-teeth  crack! 
Gents,  all  right,  a  heel  and  toeing! 

Swing  'em,  kiss  'em  if  you  kin — 
On  to  next,  and  keep  a-goin' 

Till  you  hit  your  pards  ag'in ! 

« 

"Gents  to  centre ;  ladies  round  'em, 

Form  a  basket ;  balance  all ! 
Whirl  yer  gals  to  where  you  found  'em ! 

Promenade  around  the  hall ! 
Balance  to  yer  pards  and  trot  'em 

Round  the  circle,  double  quick ! 
Grab  and  kiss  'em  while  you've  got  'em — 

Hold  'em  to  it ;  they  won't  kick !" 

The  perspiring  musician  pushes  his  instrument  into  the 
hands  of  Running  Antelope  and  turns  to  us  with,  "There's 
another  verse,  but  I  don't  always  give  it."  We  ask  him 
to  repeat  it  for  us,  but  he  seems  a  little  at  a  loss.  "It's 

318 


TO  McMURRAY  AND  BACK  TO  THE  PEACE 

hard  to  call  it  out  without  the  fiddle.     When  yer  playin' 
you  just  spit  it  out — the  words  come  to  you." 

It  is  August  6th  at  Chipewyan,  and  once  again  we  are 
at  the  parting  of  the  ways.  Every  one  we  know  is  heading 
for  "Outside"  by  way  of  the  steamer  Grahame  and  the 
Athabasca  scows.  Our  own  ambition  is  to  make  a  traverse 
of  the  great  Peace  River  Country  before  the  snows.  We 
have  had  no  mail  since  last  May,  and  the  temptation  to 
follow  the  multitude  as  far  as  McMurray  in  the  hope  of 
finding  letters  there  is  too  strong  to  be  resisted.  We  will 
then  return  and  try  to  perfect  arrangements  for  the  Peace. 

The  outgoers  are  a  cosmopolitan  and  happy  "bunch,"- 
Major  Jarvis,  R.  N.  W.  M.  P.,  fur-traders  galore,  three 
Grey  Nuns  and  a  priest,  Mr.  Wyllie  and  his  family  bound 
for  the  Orkney  Islands,  fifty-four  souls  in  all,  without 
counting  the  miscellaneous  and  interesting  fraternity  down 
on  the  lower  deck  among  the  fur-bundles. 

It  is  essentially  a  voyage  de  luxe.  When  Mr.  Keele 
imagines  a  place  is  good,  the  steamer  stops  and  we  all 
gather  fossils.  When  lame  James,  the  steward,  our  erst- 
while jig-expert,  is  about  to  serve  coffee,  he  pokes  his  head 
over  the  side  and  orders  the  engines  stopped  that  we  may 
drink  the  beverage  without  spillage.  The  beardless  pros- 
pector buys  tinned  peaches  from  the  commissariat,  opens 
them  with  a  jack-knife  and  passes  them  round  the  deck 
with  impartiality  and  a  to-hell-with-the-man-that-works 
smile.  Who  would  envy  kings? 

We  arrive  at  McMurray  in  time  for  treaty-payment. 
Tethered  horses  at  the  tepee-poles,  store-dolls  for  the  ba- 
bies, and  unmistakable  "Outside"  millinery  prove  the  pros- 
perity of  these  Crees,  and  proves  also  their  proximity  to 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Edmonton.  One  little  group  looks  tattered,  out-at-heel, 
and  hungry,— a  Cree  widow  presenting  her  four  offspring 
that  they  may  receive  the  annual  payment.  The  officials 
within  the  treaty  tent  declare  the  youngest  baby  an  illegiti- 
mate child  and  will  pay  it  no  treaty, — it  "has  no  name." 
I  catch  the  anxious  look  in  the  mother's  eye.  Five  dollars 
goes  a  long  way  when  baby  bodies  have  to  be  fed  and 


A  Meadow  at  McMurray 

clothed.  The  situation  is  crucial.  Without  a  sponsor,  the 
priest  will  not  name  the  baby.  With  no  name,  it  cannot 
draw  treaty.  I  conclude  to  father  the  child,  as  its  own 
(un)  lawful  father  will  not.  My  offer  to  give  my  name  to 
the  girlie,  after  due  deliberation  of  Church  and  State,  is 
accepted.  Under  the  name  of  Agnes  Deans  Cameron  the 
Cree  kiddie  is  received  into  the  Mother  Church  and  finds 
her  place  on  the  list  of  treaty-receiving  Indians — No.  53 
in  the  McMurray  Band.  May  she  follow  pleasant  trails ! 

320 


TO  McMURRAY  AND  BACK  TO  THE  PEACE 

Back  of  McMurray  lies  a  lush  land.  We  tread  a  path 
a  full  mile  in  length  leading  to  meadows  where,  belly-high, 
the  horses  graze.  Every  yard  of  our  way  is  lined  with 
raspberry  bushes  bent  with  their  rich,  red  burden. 

While  the  furs  are  being  transferred  from  the  Grahame 
to  the  scows,  the  working  of  our  typewriter  is  a  matter  of 
much  wonderment.  Old  Paul  Fontaine,  a  half-breed  who 
thinks  he  is  a  white  man,  first  looks  through  the  door, 
then  comes  into  the  dining  hall  where  we  are,  takes  his 
hat  off,  and  watches  respectfully.  Then,  with  an  air  of 
great  conviction,  "This  is  the  first  time  I  ever  see  that.  It 
is  wonderful  what  man  can  do — wonderful.  There  is  only 
one  thing  left  to  be  done  now — and  that  is  to  put  the  breath 
of  life  into  a  dead  body."  Solemnly  putting  on  his  hat,  he 
turns  and  walks  out. 

Mrs.  Loutit,  another  fellow-passenger  attracted  by  the 
click  of  the  machine,  comes  in  and  recounts  her  arts,  wild 
and  tame.  In  winter  she  goes  off  in  dog-cariole,  traps 
cross-foxes  off  her  own  bat,  shoots  moose,  and  smokes  the 
hide  according  to  the  ancient  accepted  mode.  Coming 
home,  she  takes  the  smoked  hide  and  works  upon  it  silk  em- 
broidery of  a  fineness  which  would  be  the  envy  of  any 
young  ladies'  seminary  in  Europe  or  America.  She  weaves 
fantastic  belts  of  beads  and  sets  the  fashion  for  the  whole 
North  in  chef  d'ccuvres  of  the  quills  of  the  porcupine. 
She  is  a  most  observant  "old  wife."  Watching,  fasci- 
nated, the  lightning  play  of  the  machine,  "Much  hard  that, 
I  think,  harder  than  bead- work,  eh?"  Conquering  her 
timidity,  she  at  last  glides  across  to  find  out  how  the  dick- 
ens when  you  strike  capital  "A"  at  one  end  of  the  key- 
board, it  finds  itself  in  the  writing  next  to  small  "o"  at  the 

321 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

other  end.     There  is  something  uncanny  about  it,  and  our 
stock  goes  up. 

We  confess  to  being  a  little  homesick  as  we  wave  fare- 
well to  the  half  hundred  passengers  in  the  familiar  scows 
embarked  for  their  two  hundred  and  thirty-eight  mile  jour- 
ney up  the  Athabasca.  It  will  be  a  tiresome  enough  trip, 
though,  for  every  foot  of  the  way  the  big  boats  will  have 


Starting  up  the  Athabasca 

to  be  tracked  (towed)  by  teams  of  half-breeds  scrambling 
along  the  shore,  now  on  land,  now  splashing  in  the  water. 
The  party  will  have  the  mosquito  as  companion  on  the 
sorrowful  way  and  it  will  take  them  four  weeks  to  make 
Athabasca  Landing,  the  distance  which  in  the  spring  we 
dropped  down  in  little  over  a  week.  We  send  letters  home, 
and  with  hand-shaking  all  round  bid  farewell  to  Mr.  Wyl- 
lie,  the  Grey  Nuns,  and  the  rest. 

322 


TO  McMURRAY  AND  BACK  TO  THE  PEACE 

Our  way  back  on  the  Grahame  to  Chipewyan  is  not  with- 
out adventure.  At  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  we  run 
up  hard  and  fast  on  a  batture!  There  is  no  swearing, 
no  shouting  of  orders.  The  deck-hands  from  long  experi- 


On  the  Clearwater 

ence  know  exactly  what  to  do.  The  engines  are  reversed 
and,  in  their  efforts,  seem  to  speak  Cree,  for  we  catch  the 
sound  of  the  familiar  "Wuh!  Wey!"  But  it  is  no  go. 
The  sun  sinks  behind  the  bank,  over  the  tops  of  the  poplars 

323 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

floats  a  faint  rosy  glow  which  fades  into  purple  and  then 
into  black,  and  we  are  still  there  hard  and  fast.  The 
drifting  sand  piles  up  against  us,  and,  in  scows,  the  whole 
cargo  is  removed.  The  captain  throws  out  a  kedge-an- 
chor,  and  in  a  mysterious  way  we  pull  ourselves  off  by 
hawsers,  as  a  man  lifts  himself  by  his  own  boot-straps. 

We  have  head-winds  all  the  way.  At  four  o'clock  on 
the  morning  of  August  I4th,  stress  of  weather  causes  us  to 
run  in  under  the  lee  of  an  island.  We  tie  up  at  the  base 
of  some  splendid  timber.  Spruce  here  will  give  three  feet 
in  diameter  twenty  feet  from  the  ground.  With  an  im- 
provised tape-line  I  go  ashore  and  measure  the  base-girth 
of  three  nearby  big  poplars  (rough-backed).  The  first 
ran  seven  feet  three  inches,  the  second  exactly  eight  feet, 
and  the  third  eight  feet  four  inches.  Within  view  were 
fifty  of  these  trees  which  would  run  the  same  average,  and 
interspersed  with  them  were  spruce  with  a  base-girth 
scarcely  less. 

Arrived  at  Chipewyan,  we  are  able  to  arrange  to  be 
taken  up  the  Peace  in  the  same  little  tug  Primrose  which 
had  before  carried  us  so  safelv  to  Fond  du  Lac. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

UP  THE  PEACE  TO  VERMILION 

"What  lies  ahead  no  human  mind  can  know, 
To-morrow  may  bring  happiness  or  woe. 
We  cannot  carry  charts,  save  the  hope  that's  in  our  hearts 
As  along  the  unknown  trail  we  blithely  go." 

When  we  leave  Chipewyan  August  I7th,  the  fall  hunt 
of  waveys  has  already  begun.  We  learn  afterwards  that 
the  Loutit  boys  alone  made  a  bag  of  sixteen  hundred  of 
these  birds  which,  salted  down,  form  a  considerable  part 
of  the  winter  food  of  the  old  Fort.  Mrs.  William  John- 
son comes  down  to  see  us  embark.  She  has  overwhelmed 
us  with  generous  kindness  at  our  every  visit  to  Chipewyan, 
kindness  we  cannot  soon  forget.  It  is  a  small  group  which 
now  starts  out  in  the  little  tug  on  the  bosom  of  the  mighty 
Peace,— Major  Routledge,  R.  N.  W.  M.  P.,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
John  Gaudet  with  their  two  olive-branches  "Char-lee"  and 
"Se-li-nah,"  now  returning  to  Lesser  Slave  Lake  from  a 
visit  to  Fort  Good  Hope,  Miss  Brown  and  myself. 

This  part  of  the  journey  we  are  to  enjoy  more  keenly 
than  all  that  has  gone  before.  Rising  on  the  western  side 
of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  the  Peace  River  is  the  largest 
affluent  of  the  Mackenzie,  being  already  a  splendid  stream 
when  it  cuts  through  that  range.  With  but  one  break, 
the  Peace  River  affords  a  nine  hundred  mile  stretch  of 
navigation,  and  we  can  justly  describe  the  country  through 
which  it  flows  as  a  plateau  in  which  the  river  has  made 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

for  itself  a  somewhat  deep  valley.  Extensive  grassy  plains 
border  it  on  both  sides,  and  north  of  Fort  Vermilion  coun- 
try of  this  character  extends  to  the  valley  of  the  Hay  River. 
Crossing  the  Quatre  Fourches,  an  offshoot  of  the  Peace  at 
the  Lake  Athabasca  edge,  we  turn  our  faces  due  west  to 
a  land  of  promise.  The  Mackenzie  River  and  the  banks 
of  the  Great  Slave  may  some  day  afford  homes  to  a  busy 
and  prosperous  populace,  but  there  are  many  fertile  and 
more  accessible  lands  to  be  settled  first.  With  the  Peace 
River  Country  there  is  no  conjecture,  for  it  is  merely  a 
question  of  the  coming  of  the  railway.  Given  a  connection 
with  the  world  to  the  south,  the  district  watered  by  the 
Peace  will  at  once  support  a  vast  agrarian  population. 
The  advance  riders  are  already  on  the  ground. 

It  is  not  our  intent  to  go  to  the  expense  of  using  a 
steamer  for  our  whole  journey  up  the  Peace.  Scows  will 
allow  us  to  proceed  more  leisurely  and  to  see  more  as  we 
go,  so  the  second  day  we  turn  the  steamer  back  and  trans- 
fer ourselves  and  our  belongings  into  a  little  open  craft  or 
model-boat  The  Mee-wah-sin.  We  have  a  crew  of  five 
men,  one  on  the  steering-sweep  and  four  to  track,  and  in 
this  wise  we  make  our  way  for  three  hundred  miles  up  the 
great  river  to  Fort  Vermilion.  One  day  we  improvise  a 
sail  and  so  make  fifty  miles  in  a  favourable  wind,  but,  with 
this  exception,  every  other  mile  of  the  journey  is  by  patient 
towing. 

Incidents  are  many.  The  first  morning  after  we  turned 
back  the  little  tug,  the  Kid  and  I  left  the  slow  trackers 
behind  and  were  glad  to  stretch  ourselves  in  a  long  fore- 
noon's tramp  along  the  sandy  beach.  The  mosquitoes  were 
practically  gone  and  for  the  first  time  all  summer  one 

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UP  THE  PEACE  TO  VERMILION 

could  really  enjoy  the  woods,  where  a  tang  of  autumn  in 
the  air  made  every  breath  a  tonic  draught.  Exulting  in 
the  fact  that  we  were  alive,  we  turned  a  sharp  corner  and 
came  suddenly  face  to  face  with  a  grey  wolf,  loping  along 
at  a  swinging  pace  at  the  water's  edge,  muzzle  close  to  the 
ground !  To  make  the  story  worth  telling,  one  should  have 
something  to  say  of  "yawning  jaws"  and  "bloodshot  eyes" 
and  "haunches  trembling  for  a  spring."  But  this  grey 
wolf  simply  refused  to  play  that  part.  He  took  one  look 
at  us,  evidently  didn't  approve,  and  turned  up  from  his 
tracks  quietly  into  the  cottonwoods  above.  As  we  on  our 
side  had  brought  neither  gun  nor  camera  from  the  Mee- 
wah-sin,  we  are  unable  to  punctuate  the  story  by  either 
pelt  or  picture.  Sic  transit  lupus! 

A  week  out  from  Chipewyan,  where  the  Swan  River 
makes  into  the  Peace,  we  came  one  glorious  afternoon  upon 
a  camp  of  Crees,  the  family  of  the  Se-weep-i-gons.  They 
had  just  killed  two  bears.  We  bought  the  skins  and  a 
large  portion  of  meat  from  them,  and  Mrs.  Se-weep-i-gon 
very  kindly  added  to  the  feast  of  fat  things  some  high- 
bush  cranberries  "in  a  present."  As  an  excuse  for  listen- 
ing to  their  soft  voices,  before  we  left  the  camp  we  asked 
the  name  of  every  member  of  the  little  group,  scratching 
the  list  down  on  a  piece  of  birchbark.  The  Crees  evidently 
considered  this  an  official  ceremony,  for  after  we  had  paid 
our  score  and  shaken  hands  with  everybody  from  Grandpa 
to  the  latest  baby  and  were  well  out  in  mid-stream,  Mrs. 
Se-weep-i-gon  came  running  down  to  the  bank  to  call  us 
back.  Rowing  to  the  shore  we  found  that  she  had  remem- 
bered one  more  child  whose  name  she  wanted  to  add  to  the 
list.  She  assured  us  that  this  one  too  had  a  little  brass 

327 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

cross  hanging  round  his  neck,  so  we  will  be  sure  to  know 
him  if  we  meet  him  in  the  woods. 

We  lived  for  the  next  two  days  on  bear-meat  and  cran- 
berries. 

So  one  wonderful  day  follows  another  as  our  little  boat 
is  towed  first  against  one  bank  then  another  of  this  majestic 


Evening  on  the   Peace 

stream.  The  forest  growth  is  a  marvel.  We  measure 
one  morning  three  of  the  spruce  trees  to  which  our  tent- 
ropes  are  tied,  and  get  for  base  measurement  six  feet  eight 
inches,  five  feet  two  inches,  and  five  feet  respectively.  The 
trees  averaged  ninety  feet  in  height  and  would  give  perhaps 
one  thousand  feet  to  each  tree.  The  autumn  tints  on  the 
willows  and  alders  of  the  high  river-banks  are  indescrib- 
ably beautiful.  We  pass  through  one  hundred  miles  of 

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UP  THE  PEACE  TO  VERMILION 

a  veritable  field  of  the  cloth  of  gold.  We  look  out  of  our 
tent-flaps  at  night  on  this  living  glory,  and  wake  up  to  it 
again  with  each  new  morning  sun. 

One  Sunday  evening  at  dusk  we  slip  into  the  Hudson's 
Bay  post  where  the  Little  Red  River  makes  into  the  Peace, 
the  dear  home  of  Tom  Kerr,  his  Scottish  wife,  and  their 
four  bairns.  Let  me  try  to  give  the  picture.  Tom  had 
been  off  all  day  cutting  meadowgrass,  and  now  wended 
his  way  home  with  a  load  of  it  in  a  little  Old  Country  cart 
drawn  by  a  wall-eyed  mare.  At  her  side  frisked  a  foal, 
and  two  great  stag-hounds  ran  back  and  forward  between 
the  master  and  his  home  by  the  riverside.  Three  children 
bounded  out  to  greet  their  father.  "Oh!  Daddy,  Daddy, 
the  red  coo  broke  away  from  the  byre  and  is  far  awa  on 
the  ither  side  o'  the  burn !"  Here,  in  a  nutshell,  you  have 
the  difference  between  the  Mackenzie  River  of  to-day  and 
the  Peace  River.  On  the  Mackenzie,  swarthy  forms  are 
in  evidence,  Cree  and  French  is  spoken  on  all  sides,  there 
are  no  great  fields  of  waving  grain,  and  the  dog  is  the 
only  domestic  animal.  On  the  Peace  is  an  essentially 
white  race,  cows,  chickens,  trustworthy  old  nags,  por- 
ridge for  breakfast,  "the  tongue  that  Shakespeare  spake," 
rendered  in  an  accent  born  far  ayont  the  Tweed.  Right 
across  the  mouth  of  the  Little  Red  River,  Tom  Kerr  has 
a  fishing  seine.  We  go  down  with  him  to  lift  it,  after  the 
cows  have  been  brought  back  to  the  narrow  path.  The 
net  yields  seven  fish  and  they  are  of  five  different  species, — 
trout,  ling,  sucker,  jack-fish,  and  something  else  that  Tom 
calls  a  "Maria."  Daily  this  net  is  set,  and  for  three  hun- 
dred and  sixty-five  days  every  year  it  furnishes  food  for 
the  family,  in  summer  in  the  flowing  water,  and  in  winter 
23  329 


rr  - 
UNIVERSITY 

OF 

C 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

under  the  ice.  You  couldn't  starve  at  Little  Red  River 
if  you  wanted  to.  This  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  spots 
in  the  whole  North  Countree.  Long  after  Tom  and  we 
and  Mrs.  Tom  are  under  the  gowans,  and  the  little  Kerrs 


Our  Lobsticks  on  the  Peace 

possess  the  land,  there  will  be  populous  cities  along  the 
Peace,  and  millionaires  will  plant  their  summer  villas  on 
the  beauteous  spot  where  we  now  stand. 

Bidding  the  bairns  good-bye,  we  press  onward  on  our 
way,  Tom  Kerr  accompanying  us.     A  great  honour  awaits 

330 


UP  THE  PEACE  TO  VERMILION 

us  round  the  next  corner,  when  the  boatmen  announce  that 
they  are  going  to  make  us  each  a  lobstick.  We  land,  as 
pleased  as  Punch  over  the  suggestion.  We  now  know 
what  it  feels  like  when  the  philanthropist  of  a  village  takes 
his  after-dinner  walk  through  the  square  and  sees  the  spar- 
rows drinking  from  the  memorial  fountain  surmounted 
with  his  own  bust,  done  in  copper,  life-size.  It  takes  fully 
two  hours  to  trim  the  trees  into  significant  shape,  but 
the  beauty  of  this  particular  kind  of  Cook's  Tour  is  that 
you  go  down  when  you  like  and  stop  when  you  want  to. 
The  lobsticks  furnished,  the  men  form  a  circle  and  dis- 
charge their  muskets  in  salute,  and  on  we  go.  We  learn 
that  the  ethics  of  lobsticks  is  that  each  of  these  men,  should 
Fate  take  him  past  this  point  again,  will  salute  the  lobstick 
just  made  and  send  a  strong  thought  across  the  spruce- 
tops  to  us.  There  is  a  reverse  to  the  shield.  Should  we, 
at  any  time  before  this  journey  ends,  fail  to  make  good, 
the  men  on  the  return  voyage  will  cut  the  lobstick  down. 
We  are  going  to  make  no  impertinent  enquiries  regarding 
the  ulterior  fate  of  these  family  trees.  Is  it  not  sufficient 
glory  to  say,  "On  the  Peace  River  we  had  a  lobstick"? 
The  Chutes  of  the  Peace!  These  will  live  forever 
with  the  Ramparts  of  the  Mackenzie  as  the  two  most  ma- 
jestic visions  which  the  whole  North  Land  gave  us.  We 
had  not  been  prepared  for  that  wonderful  spectacle  which 
met  us  as  we  turned  a  sharp  point  in  the  river.  The 
torrent  roars  for  four  or  five  hundred  yards  of  rapid 
riverway  before  coming  to  its  great  drop.  The  rock-reef 
over  which  the  cataract  falls  extends  quite  across  the 
mighty  Peace,  here  a  river  of  immense  width.  Measured 
in  feet  and  inches,  the  Chutes  of  the  Peace  must  take  sec- 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

ond  place  to  Niagara,  yet  they  impress  us  as  Niagara  never 
did.  The  awesome  silence  of  this  land  so  pregnant  with 
possibilities,  a  land  which,  though  it  echo  now  only  the 
quiet  foot  of  the  Cree,  is  so  unmistakably  a  White  Man's 
Country,  intensifies  the  sense  of  majesty  and  power  which 
here  takes  possession  of  us.  The  men  talk  of  the  water- 


The  Chutes  of  the  Peace 

power  furnished  by  the  great  falls,  and  hazard  guesses 
of  the  future  economic  purposes  to  which  it  will  be  put. 
For  our  own  part,  our  one  wish  is  to  get  away  from  the 
noise  of  even  these  subdued  voices  and  in  silence  feast 
our  very  souls  on  this  manifestation  of  the  power  of  God. 
The  thoughts  that  we  feel  cannot  be  put  into  words.  Why 
attempt  the  impossible? 

Our  way  lies  beyond  this,  and  the  Chutes  have  to  be 

332 


UP  THE  PEACE  TO  VERMILION 

overcome.  These  half-breeds  know  exactly  what  to  do  in 
every  emergency  which  arises.  Only  one  of  the  men  has 
traversed  this  river  before,  and  he  gives  orders.  We 
strip  our  little  Mee-wah-sin  of  her  temporary  masts  and 
canvas  awning  and  take  out  all  our  belongings.  Every- 
body works.  A  purchase  is  obtained  by  throwing  a  pulley 


Pulling  out  the  Mce-zvah-sin 

and  rope  over  a  nearby  jack-pine,  and  the  boat  is  pulled 
out  bodily  from  the  water.  Then  the  crew  drag  her  along 
the  shore  well  beyond  the  head  of  the  rapid,  and  we  make 
camp. 

These  delicious  nights  within  the  tent  are  memories  that 
will  remain  through  all  the  years  to  come.  It  is  cool  and 
silent  and  productive  of  thought.  We  are  selfishly  glad 
that  fifty  people  went  out  by  Athabasca  ways,  leaving  to 

333 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

us  all  the  mighty  reaches  and  pleasant  pastures  of  the 
Peace.  The  midnight  is  flooded  by  a  glorious  moon,  and 
the  thoughts  born  this  afternoon  of  that  stupendous  fall 
have  driven  sleep  far  away.  Opening  the  tent-flap,  I 
slip  through  the  camp  of  sleeping  Indians  to  the  edge  of 
the  fast-flowing  stream.  The  feeling  is  insistent  here 
which  has  been  ever-present  since  we  entered  this  valley 
of  the  Peace — here  is  the  home  prepared  and  held  in  wait- 
ing for  the  people  who  are  to  follow. 

''Listening  there,  I  heard  all  tremulously 
Footfalls  of  Autumn  passing  on  her  way, 
And  in  the  mellow  silence  every  tree 
Whispered  and  crooned  of  hours  that  are  to  be. 
Then  a  soft  wind  like  some  small  thing  astray 
Comes  sighing  soothingly." 


CHAPTER  XX 

VERMILION-ON-THE-PEACE 

"Lofty  I  stand  from  each  sister  land,  patient  and  cheerily  wise, 
With  the  weight  of  a  world  of  wonder  in  my  quiet,  passionless  eyes, 
Dreaming  of  men  who  will  bless  me,  of  women  esteeming  me  good, 
Of  children  born  in  my  borders,  of  radiant  motherhood, 
Of  cities  leaping  to  stature,  of  fame  like  a  flag  unfurled, 
As  I  pour  the  tide  of  my  riches  in  the  eager  lap  of  the  world." 

— Service. 

It  is  on  August  27th,  in  the  evening,  that  the  crew,  all 
slicked  up  in  their  Sunday-go-to-meetings,  draw  us  up  on 
the  beach  of  the  City  in  the  Silences,  this  Past-in-the-arms- 
of-the-Present, — Vermilion-on-the-Peace.  The  first  thing 
to  meet  our  eye  is  the  red  roof  of  the  flour-mill  of  the  H, 
B.  Co.,  a  picture  of  progressiveness  set  in  a  living  frame 
of  golden  wheat,  the  heavy  heads  nodding  to  the  harvest. 

Vermilion  is  an  old  post  of  the  Old  Company.  Alexan^ 
der  Mackenzie  on  his  way  to  the  Pacific  found  people  at 
work  here  far  back  in  1792.  The  Vermilion  of  to-day 
stands  a  living  monument  to  the  initiative  faith  and  hard 
work  largely  of  one  man,  Mr.  Francis  D.  Wilson,  who  hasr 
had  charge  of  H.  B.  Co.  interests  here  for  nineteen  years. 
Mr.  Wilson  found  this  place  a  fur-post  on  the  edge  of 
civilisation,  and  he  has  made  of  it  a  commercial,  agricul- 
tural, and  manufacturing  centre.  And  his  example  has 
been  contagious,  for  the  half-breeds  around  him  have  be- 
come farmers,  the  Indians  who  traded  furs  a  dozen  years 

335 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

ago  now  buy  harness  and  ploughs  and  breach-loading  guns 
from  The  Company,  paying  for  the  same  with  wheat  of 
their  own  growing. 

Vermilion  is  in  latitude  58°  30'  N., — that  is,  about  four 
hundred  miles  due  north  of  Edmonton,  and  on  practically 
the  same  parallel  as  Stockholm.  The  flour-mill  that  we 
now  inspect  is  the  most  northerly  wheat-mill  on  this  conti- 


Thc  Flour  Mill  at  Vermilion-on-the-Peace 

nent,  and  it  has  been  running  for  five  years.  It  is  the 
roller  process,  with  a  capacity  of  fifty  barrels  a  day,  the 
motor-power  being  a  40  H.P.  Corliss  engine.  The  wheat 
which  feeds  these  rollers  is  all  grown  in  nearby  fields,  and 
the  resultant  flour  is  consumed  by  the  people  of  the  lone 
posts  of  the  Peace  and  the  lower  Mackenzie.  Two  years 
ago  the  H.  B.  Company  paid  to  farmers,  all  of  whom  lived 
within  a  radius  of  five  miles  from  the  mill,  the  sum  of 

336 


VERMILION-ON-THE-PEACE 

$27,000  spot  cash  for  their  wheat.  An  electric  plant 
lights  the  mill  and  fort  buildings,  affording  fifty  six- 
candle-power  lights. 

Right  up  to  the  door  of  the  mill  extends  the  sixty-acre 
wheat-field  of  the  H.  B.  Company,  from  which  Mr.  Wilson 
computes  that  he  will  this  year  thrash  two  thousand  bush- 
els. If  the  H.  B.  wheat-field  were  to  sell  the  H.  B.  mill 
these  two  thousand  bushels  at  $1.25  a  bushel  (the  ruling 
Vermilion  price),  there  would  be  a  net  profit  of  $1500, 
after  paying  all  expense  of  culture,  to  the  credit  of  one 
branch  of  Mr.  Wilson's  commercial  institution.  For  thirty 
years,  wheat,  oats,  barley,  and  vegetables  have  been  grown 
in  Vermilion,  not  as  an  experiment,  but  as  regular  com- 
mercial crops.  Cereals  are  sown  late  in  April  or  early  in 
May,  and  the  harvest  is  gathered  in  August.  More  than 
once,  wheat  has  matured  in  eighty-six  days  from  seed- 
sowing  to  seed-garnering. 

Vermilion  farmers  boast  sulkies  and  gang-ploughs  and 
the  latest  geared  McCormick,  Massey-Harris,  and  Deer- 
ing  farm  implements, — self-binders  and  seeders.  Every- 
thing is  up-to-date.  *  We  ourselves  counted  fifteen  self- 
binders  at  work.  And  grain  is  not  the  whole  story.  The 
farmers  own  thoroughbred  Ayrshire  stock  and  splendid 
horses.  I  happened  to  be  at  the  garden  of  the  Church  of 
England  Mission  when  the  potato-crop  was  being  har- 
vested, and  found  that  seven  bags  of  seed  planted  in  the 
middle  of  May  produced  one  hundred  bags  by  the  end  of 
August.  Five  potatoes  that  I  gathered  haphazard  from 
one  heap  weighed  exactly  five  and  one-half  pounds.  I  pho- 
tographed and  weighed  a  collection  of  vegetables  grown 
by  Robert  Jones  on  the  Dominion  Experimental  Farm. 

337 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

One  cauliflower  weighed  eight  pounds,  half  a  dozen  tur- 
nips weighed  nine  pounds  each,  and  twenty  table  beets 
would  easily  average  six  pounds  each.  The  carrots  and 


Articles  Made  by  Indians 

A — Wall-pocket  of  white  deerskin,  embroidered  in  silk-work,  and  bordered  with  ermine  — • 
the  work  of  a  Cree  woman  at  Vermilion-on-the-Peace. 

B — Gloves  of  white  deerskin  embroidered  in  silk,  the  work  of  a  Slavi  woman  on  the 
Liard  River  (a  branch  of  the  Mackenzie). 

C,  D,  E,  F,  G,  H,  I — Moccasins  as  worn  respectively  by  the  Crees,  Chipewyans,  Slavis, 
Dog-Ribs,  Yellow-Knives,  Loucheux  —  all  the  work  of  the  women. 

J. — Flour  bag  from  the  mill  at  Vermilion-on-the-Peace,  the  most  northerly  flour-mill  in 
America. 

K — Sinew,  from  close  to  the  spine  of  the  moose  —  used  by  the  women  of  the  North  in- 
stead of  thread. 

L — Very  valuable  net  of  willow-bark  made  by  an  old  squaw  at  Fort  Resolution.  This 
is  almost  a  lost  art,  and  harks  back  to  the  pre-string  days. 

M — The  "  crooked  knife  "   or  knife  of  the  country. 

N — Match-box  made  from  a  copper  kettle  by  an  old  Beaver  Indian  at  Fort  Vermilion-on- 
the-Peace. 

O — Babiche,   or  rawhide  of  the   moose   or   caribou — "  the  iron   of   the  country." 

onions  were  sown  in  the  open  in  mid-May  and  were  as 
inviting  specimens  as  I  have  ever  seen.  Tomatoes  rip- 
ened in  the  open  air  on  this  farm  on  July  I3th.  Peas, 

338 


VERMILION-ON-THE-PEACE 

sown  on  May  23rd  and  gathered  on  August  I2th,  weighed 
sixty-four  pounds  to  the  bushel.  Experimental  plots  of 
turnips  gave  sixteen  tons  to  the  acre,  and  white  carrots 
twelve  tons.  Apple-trees  and  roses  we  found  flourishing 
on  this  farm,  with  twenty-five  varieties  of  red,  black,  and 
white  currants.  The  wheat  story  is  of  compelling  inter- 


The  Hudson's  Bay  Store 

est.  Preston  wheat,  sown  on  May  6th  and  cut  on  August 
22nd,  weighed  sixty-four  pounds  to  the  bushel;  Ladoga 
wheat,  sown  on  the  last  day  of  April  and  cut  on  September 
5th,  ran  sixty-four  pounds  to  the  bushel  also,  and  early 
Riga  weighed  sixty-three  pounds.  In  the  garden  of  the 
R.  C.  Mission  we  were  presented  with  splendid  specimens 
of  ripened  corn  and  with  three  cucumbers  grown  in  the 
open  air,  which  weighed  over  a  pound  each. 

Vermilion  is  the  centre  of  prairie  and  rolling  timber- 

339 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

land  greater  in  extent  than  the  whole  of  Belgium.  There 
are  probably  a  million  acres  of  land  immediately  tributary 
to  the  place,  all  capable  of  producing  crops  like  those  cited. 
Within  a  radius  of  ten  miles  of  the  H.  B.  post  there  are 
living  now  five  hundred  people  of  whom  perhaps  fifty  are 
white.  They  all  to  some  extent  cultivate  the  soil,  varying 
their  farm  operations  by  hunting,  trapping,  and  freight- 
ing. The  settlement  boasts  two  churches,  two  mission 
schools,  and  two  trading  stores, — a  happy,  prosperous,  and 
very  progressive  community.  Everything  in  the  place 
points  to  this  conclusion. 

The  H.  B.  Company  here,  in  addition  to  buying  beaver- 
skins  and  growing  $1.25  wheat  and  grinding  flour  and 
importing  big  red  binders,  breaks  the  monotony  by  run- 
ning a  sawmill  and  building  modern  steamboats.  This 
sawmill  turned  out  all  the  lumber  for  the  new  steamer 
Peace  River,  built  here  four  years  ago  of  native  timber. 
She  is  a  hundred  and  ten-foot  stern-wheeler  with  twenty- 
two-foot  beam,  drawing  two  and  a  half  feet  and  carrying 
forty  tons  burden.  She  can  accommodate  thirty  passen- 
gers in  comfortable  cabins,  and  when  going  with  the  cur- 
rent, makes  fifteen  knots  an  hour.  The  sawmill  which 
turned  out  the  timbers  for  this  boat  has  a  capacity  of  fif- 
teen thousand  feet  a  day. 

Within  this  mill  I  took,  at  random,  the  record  sheet  of 
one  raft  of  one  man's  logs  for  the  spring  of  1906,  cut  in 
the  immediate  vicinity  of  Vermilion  and  floated  along  the 
Peace  to  the  mill.  Edmond  Paul's  logs  in  one  raft  gave  a 
total  of  two  hundred  and  eighty-eight  logs,  which  cut  at 
the  mill  27,029  board  feet  of  lumber.  The  biggest  log 
in  this  raft  was  a  twelve-foot  log  with  twenty-six  inches 

340 


VERMILION-ON-THE-PEACE 

diameter  at  the  small  end,  which  cut  three  hundred  and 
sixty-three  feet  of  lumber. 

Vermilion  in  its  soil  fertility,  its  modernism,  culture,  and 
arrived-ness  is  a  source  of  recurring  marvel  and  pleasure. 
If  a  handful  of  people  four  hundred  miles  from  a  railway, 
as  the  crow  flies,  and  seven  hundred  miles  by  actual  prac- 
ticable trails,  can  accomplish  what  has  been  done,  into 
what  status  of  producing  activity  will  this  whole  country 
spring  when  it  is  given  rail  communication  with  the  plains- 
people  to  the  south? 

Waiting  for  steamboat  connection,  we  are  for  weeks 
in  this  glorious  autumn  weather,  guests  in  the  hospitable 
home  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wilson.  Can  we  ever  forget  the 
generous  kindness  extended  to  us  within  these  walls? 
Months  of  travel  in  open  scows,  sleeping  on  the  ground, 
and  stretching  out  in  blankets  on  the  decks  of  little  tugs 
have  prepared  us  to  enjoy  to  the  full  the  comforts  of  a 
cultured  home.  It  is  a  modern  house,  with  beds  of  old- 
fashioned  pansies  and  sweet-Williams  and  rows  of  holly- 
hocks on  all  sides.  The  upper  verandah  affords  a  view 
of  the  Peace,  here  fully  a  mile  in  width,  of  incomparable 
beauty.  To  the  visitor  who  steps  over  its  threshold,  Mr. 
Wilson's  library  indicates  at  once  the  reading  man  and 
the  clever  artificer.  Scientific  works  of  reference,  good 
pictures,  the  latest  magazines,  certainly  look  inviting  to 
ragged  travellers  who  have  opened  no  books,  save  those  of 
nature  and  human-nature,  for  five  long  months.  The 
office  furniture,  hand-made  of  native  tamarack  and  birch, 
is  Mr.  Wilson's  individual  work  in  both  design  and  execu- 
tion. Admiring  the  outcome  of  hand  and  head,  we  get 
also  a  glimpse  of  a  warm  heart,  for  we  are  quick  to  notice 

341 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

that  all  these  carefully-filed  magazines  and  papers  are 
available  for  reference  to  any  one  in  the  settlement, 
whether  fort  employe  or  not,  who  cares  to  come  in  here 
for  a  quiet  hour  to  read. 

Kipling  says,  "You  couldn't  pack  a  Broadwood  half  a 
mile,"  but  the  Wilson  home  gives  the  lie  direct  to  this 
blithe  line.  In  a  corner  of  the  drawing-room  stands  an 
old-fashioned  piano  with  a  history.  The  honourable  an- 
cestress of  all  the  modern  square  pianos  and  baby-grands 
of  Canada,  this  little  instrument  came  long  years  ago  in  the 
hold  of  a  sailing  ship  to  Hudson  Bay,  and  by  interior 
waterways  was  carried  by  portage  and  York-boat  into 
Winnipeg,  and  subsequently  into  Edmonton.  It  carries 
on  it  the  name  of  John  Broadwood  &  Sons,  London.  Mrs. 
Wilson  tells  us  that  when  she  was  little  it  was  carried  by 
the  boys  from  house  to  house  on  the  prairies  to  do  duty 
wherever  there  was  a  social  dance.  The  ghost  of  the  old 
thing  has  much  quiet  here  in  Vermilion  to  think  of  the 
pretty  girls  in  their  short  sleeves  and  muslin  frocks  who 
once  trod  Sir  Rogers  to  its  sweet  strains. 

Mrs.  Wilson,  the  grand-daughter  of  Peter  Warren 
Dease,  the  explorer,  and  the  daughter  of  late  Chief  Factor 
Clarke  of  the  H.  B.  Co.,  has  put  in  a  life  of  loving  service 
among  the  people  of  Vermilion.  Her  knowledge  of  medi- 
cine and  her  devoted  attention  and  nursing,  extended  in 
the  hour  of  need  alike  to  Indians  and  whites,  has  saved 
the  life  of  many  a  mother  and  child ;  for  doctors  and  pro- 
fessional nurses  are  unknown  in  Vermilion.  These  are 
the  pioneer  days,  when  interdependence  breeds  neighbourly 
kindness. 

Everything  on  a  Vermilion  dinner-table  is  produced  in 

342 


VERMILION-ON-THE-PEACE 

the  country,  with  the  exception  only  of  tea,  coffee,  sugar, 
and  pepper.  The  country  furnishes  beef,  pork,  and  fowl 
all  locally  matured;  home-cured  ham  and  bacon;  every 
known  variety  of  hardy  and  tender  vegetables ;  home-made 
butter;  bread  made  from  flour  grown  and  ground  on  the 


. 


Papillon,  a  Beaver  Brave 

premises;  pies  whose  four  constituents — flour,  lard,  butter 
and  fruit — are  products  of  the  country ;  home-made  cheese ; 
wild  honey;  home-made  wines;  splendid  fish  caught  from 
the  Peace,  and  a  bewildering  variety  of  wild  game — moose, 
caribou,  venison,  grouse,  brant,  wild  geese,  canvas-backs, 
and  mallards.  Wild  berries  furnish  jams  and  conserves 

343 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

of  a  dozen  different  kinds,  such  as  raspberry,  black  cur- 
rant, strawberry,  blackberry,  cranberry,  blueberry,  and 
saskatoon.  The  salt  comes  from  Slave  River,  and  sugar 
could  very  readily  be  produced  from  Vermilion  beets  if 
there  should  arise  a  market.  What  more  would  you? 
The  Vermilionese  on  his  fertile  acres  is  as  independent  of 
the  world  outside  as  is  the  Eskimo  in  his  Arctic  igloo. 
The  farm  of  Sheridan  Lawrence,  exhibiting  its  wide- 
stretching  wheat-fields,  some  heads  of  which  counted  sev- 
enty-one kernels,  with  its  patches  of  one-pound  potatoes, 
twelve-foot  sunflowers,  and  its  quiverful  of  happy,  tow- 
headed  children,  gives  as  sweet  a  picture  of  Canadian 
thrift  and  happiness  as  one  would  wish  to  see.  Indeed, 
happiness  seems  to  be  the  keynote  of  Vermilion,  whether 
we  seek  it  within  the  fort  walls  of  the  H.  B.  Co.,  on  the 
fat  acres  of  the  farmers,  or  within  the  folds  of  Protestant 
or  Roman  Mission. 

We  carry  away  with  us  two  pictures,  that  we  like  to 
cherish,  of  the  convent  kiddies  of  Vermilion.  The  first 
thing  we  saw  when  we  peered  round  a  corner  of  this 
old-fashioned  building  was  the  bright  face  of  Sister 
Thomas  of  Canterbury  playing  see-saw  with  a  dozen  wide- 
grinning  Slavi  babies.  When  the  morning  came  when  we 
were  to  bid  reluctant  good-bye  to  Vermilion  and  all  its 
spontaneous  kindness,  the  last  sight  that  met  our  eyes  be- 
fore we  turned  the  corner  of  the  Peace  was  the  whole  con- 
vent force  of  Vermilion  perched  high  on  stumps  and  fence- 
rails,  wishing  us  bon  voyage  with  fluttering  pocket-hand- 
kerchiefs, while  Sister  Thomas  of  Canterbury,  on  a  lad- 
der, surmounted  the  crowd  and  waved  her  farewells  with 
a  table-cloth. 

344 


CHAPTER  XXI 

FORT    VERMILION    TO    LESSER    SLAVE 

'  Tis  a  summer  such  as  broods 

O'er  enchanted  solitudes. 

Where  the  hands  of  Fancy  lead  us  through  voluptu 

ary  moods, 

And  with  lavish  love  outpours 
All  the  wealth  of  out-of-doors." 

— James  Whitcomb  Riley. 

On  September  I5th  we  leave  Vermilion,  leave,  top,  on 
the  beach  the  little  Mee-wah-sin,  and  in  the  tiny  tug-  Mes- 


Going  to  School  in  Winter 

senger  of  the  H.  B.  Company  pass  on  up  the  Peace.  By 
night  we  tent  on  the  banks,  by  day  we  puff  along  between 
painted  banks  of  gold  and  crimson,  while  all  around  us 

24  345 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

the  air  is  a  pungent  tonic,  and  overhead  the  southward- 
passing  cranes  are  flying. 

Little  Se-li-nah,  the  sturdiest  of  travelling  companions 
through  months  of  wandering  over  portage  and  up  river, 
has  won  our  unbounded  respect  and  created  for  herself  a 
warm  place  in  every  heart.  Se-li-nah,  though,  makes  it 
impossible  for  us  to  pose  as  brave  endurers  of  hardships. 
Each  night  and  morning  she  carries  her  little  pack  on  and 
off  shore,  takes  her  share  of  pot-luck  at  meat-sit,  and  is 
never  cross.  Bless  the  kiddie!  If  ablutions  seem  to  her 
a  work  of  supererogation  and  our  daily  play  of  toothbrush 
furnishes  all  the  fascination  of  the  unknown,  still  hers  is 
the  right  stuff  for  pioneer  lands  and  she  has  lessons  to 
teach  us  in  pluck  and  endurance. 

The  first  night  out  from  Vermilion  we  made  camp  after 
dark  and,  on  waking,  found  that  in  our  blankets  we  had 
lain  directly  across  four  new  bear-tracks.  Moose-tracks 
are  plentiful  at  every  stopping-place,  so  we  see  to  it  that 
both  guns  and  camera  are  primed.  At  eight  next  morning 
we  pass  Not-in-a-gu  Seepee.  Some  Indians  hail  us,  ask- 
ing for  tea,  and  from  these  we  learn  that  ten  families  who 
made  this  their  winter  camp  last  season  bagged  eighty 
moose  among  them. 

At  half-past  two  our  chance  came.  To  get  away  from 
the  noise  of  the  engine,  the  Kid  and  I  had  moved  our  work 
directly  after  breakfast  to  a  flour-laden  scow  that  we  had 
in  tow,  and  I  was  dictating  this  story  to  the  machine  when 
the  sharp  eyes  of  Showan  in  the  distance  spied  a  moose. 
He  was  on  the  shore  cropping  willows.  It  had  been  gen- 
erously agreed  that  if  opportunity  offered  at  a  moose  the 
shot  was  to  be  mine,  so  in  excited  whispers  the  news  is 

346 


FORT  VERMILION  TO  LESSER  SLAVE 

telegraphed  to  our  end  of  the  scow  and  my  rifle  is  handed 
up.  The  fireman  slows  up  on  the  engine,  but  still  its  throb- 
bing sounds  distressingly  loud  as  we  creep  up  on  the  feed- 
ing moose  and  scan  the  lay  of  the  land,  calculating  his 
chances  of  escape.  The  banks  are  high, — perhaps  one 
hundred  and  fifty  feet — and  sheer,  but  there  are  two  gul- 
lies which  afford  runway  to  the  bench  above.  What  an 


My  Premier  Moose 

ungainly  creature  he  looks  as  we  draw  in  nearer,  all  legs 
and  clumsy  head, — a  regular  grasshopper  on  stilts!  He 
reminds  me  of  nothing  so  much  as  those  animals  we  make 
for  the  baby  by  sticking  four  matches  into  a  sweet  biscuit. 
And  now  at  last  he  sees  us.  I  fire,  and  the  shot  just  grazes 
his  spine.  Will  he  take  to  a  gully?  No,  he  plunges  into 
the  river  instead  and  we  follow  him  up  in  the  little  tug. 
One  more  shot  is  effective,  and  I  have  killed  my  premier 

347 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

moose.  "Cruel !"  you  say.  Well,  just  you  live  from  mid- 
May  to  mid-September  without  fresh  meat,  as,  with  the 
exception  of  Vermilion's  flesh-pots,  we  have  done,  and  then 
find  out  if  you  would  fly  in  the  face  of  Providence  when 
the  Red  Gods  send  you  a  young  moose !  To  illuminate 
the  problem  I  transcribe  the  menu  of  one  sample  week  of 
the  summer. 

This  is  the  literal  "dope  sheet"  of  the  camp  cook: 

Monday: — Dried 'caribou  and  rice. 

Tuesday: — Salt  fish  and  prunes. 

Wednesday: — Mess-pork  and  dried  peaches. 

Thursday: — Salt  horse  and  macaroni. 

Friday: — Sow-belly  and  bannock. 

Saturday: — Blue-fish  and  beans. 

Sunday : — Repeat. 

Dragged  ashore,  the  moose  proved  to  be  a  male  of  two 
prongs,  about  eighteen  months  old,  and  weighed  perhaps 
four  or  five  hundred  pounds.  A  full-grown  moose  of  this 
country  will  sometimes  dress  half  a  ton.  We  are  to  learn 
that  there  are  many  viewpoints  from  which  to  approach 
a  moose.  The  Kid  wants  its  photograph,  Chiboo  and  Mrs. 
Gaudet  each  eloquently  argue  for  the  skin,  the  rest  of  us 
are  gross  enough  to  want  to  eat  it,  and  Se-li-nah,  looking 
demurely  off  into  the  pines,  murmurs  gently  in  Cree,  "Mar- 
row is  nice."  Poor  young  stripling  of  the  Royal  House 
of  Moose,  you  could  not  have  fallen  into  more  apprecia- 
tive hands ! 

The  first  thing  Baptiste  does  is  to  plunge  his  penknife 
into  the  back  to  see  how  deep  the  fat  is.  We  had  noticed 
this  testing  process  before.  A  bunch  of  feathers  is  always 
plucked  off  the  new-killed  bird  that  one  can  immediately 

348 


FORT  VERMILION  TO  LESSER  SLAVE 

gauge  the  gastronomic  niche  at  which  to  set  one's  waiting 
stomach.  No  more  voyaging  to-night.  The  moose  is 
cleaned  and  skinned.  Mrs.  Gaudet  draws  the  skin.  I 
claim  the  head.  A  little  Indian  boy,  who  with  his  mother 
had  been  added  to  our  ship's  crew  at  Carcajou  Point,  ap- 
propriates the  kidneys,  which  he  proceeds  to  roast  in  the 
ashes.  Ten-year-old  Bill  evidently  likes  his  devilled  kid- 


Beaver  Camp,  on   Paddle  River 

neys  rare,  for  within  three  minutes  we  see  him  prancing 
round  the  camp,  nibbling  his  dripping  dainty  from  the 
point  of  an  impaling  stick. 

Having  sat  round  the  barbecue  half  the  night,  we  pull 
out  late  the  next  morning.  And  now,  apprised  by  moc- 
casin telegraph,  we  are  all  on  the  qui  vlve  to  catch  sight 
of  a  floating  bride.  A  fur-trader  attached  to  "The  French 
Company"  at  Vermilion  has  been  out  on  six  months'  leave 
and  is  bringing  in  a  bride  from  Paris.  We  are  to  expect 

349 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

them  to  cross  our  course  on  a  raft,  floating  in  with  the 
current  of  the  Peace  as  we  make  our  way  upstream.  We 
see  the  raft.  All  is  excitement.  We  direct  the  steersman 
to  draw  close  in,  and  the  men  prime  their  rifles  for  a  salute. 
She  is  not  visible, — floating  brides  on  the  Peace  shrink 
evidently  from  being  the  cynosure  of  passing  eyes.  Our 
men  fire  their  salute,  the  steersman  on  the  raft  looks  puz- 
zled when  we,  smiling  our  sympathy,  peer  over  the  edge 
of  his  craft,  and  see,  instead  of  the  Parisian  bride, — a  load 
of  Poland  pigs  for  Vermilion!  It  is  the  wrong  raft. 
The  real  bride  passes  us  in  the  gloaming  ten  hours 
later,  when  it  is  too  dark  to  get  a  satisfactory  photo- 
graph! 

On  the  evening  of  September  22nd  we  arrive  at  Peace 
River  Crossing,  or  Peace  River  Landing,  just  a  week  out 
from  Vermilion.  Our  course  from  there  has  been  almost 
due  south.  We  turn  the  little  Messenger  back  here  and 
regretfully  bid  good-bye  to  our  staunch  and  friendly  boat- 
men. No  people  in  the  world  could  be  pleasanter  to  travel 
with  than  these  splendid  men  of  the  North.  Indefati- 
gable and  ready  for  any  emergency,  they  know  their  busi- 
ness and  are  always  master  of  the  situation;  moreover, 
nature  has  dowered  them  with  an  intuitive  delicacy  as 
rare  as  it  is  pleasing.  Through  all  these  weeks,  intensely 
interested  as  they  are  in  everything  that  is  new,  never  for 
a  moment  have  they  intruded  upon  us  or  our  doings.  At 
night  there  is  not  a  man  of  them  who  will  not  walk  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  through  the  woods  rather  than  pass  between 
our  occupied  tent  and  the  camp  fire.  But  let  us  offer  to 
show  them  pictures  or  to  explain  the  workings  of  the 
camera  or  the  typewriter  and  it  is  a  different  story,  for  then 

350 


FORT  VERMILION  TO  LESSER  SLAVE 

every  man  Jack  drops  his  oar  or  tump-line  and  rushes  to 
our  side  like  an  excited  schoolboy. 

Peace  River  Crossing  is  in  latitude  56°  N.  and  longitude 
117°  20'  W.  From  that  far-off  day  in  spring  when  we 
first  touched  the  Clearwater  we  have  been  following  in  the 
historic  footprints  of  Sir  Alexander  Mackenzie.  We  now 
take  a  day  off,  with  the  object  of  locating  Mackenzie's  last 
camp  on  the  Peace,  which  he  reached  in  1792  and  from 
which,  in  the  spring  of  1793,  he  started  west  across  the 
map  seeking  an  unknown  route  to  the  Pacific  Ocean.  We 
find  the  remains  of  that  camp.  It  is  in  the  corner  of  a  po- 
tato-field a  little  way  beyond  Peace  River  Crossing  and  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  river.  Only  the  foundations  of  the 
walls  are  left  and  the  crumbling  bricks  of  two  old  chim- 
neys. Mackenzie  was  the  first  man  to  cross  the  continent 
from  sea  to  sea  north  of  the  latitude  of  Mexico,  and  it  was 
from  this  point  where  we  stand  that  he  launched  his  am- 
bitious canoe.  There  is  no  more  historic  spot  on  the  con- 
tinent than  that  on  which  we  stand  this  September  day, 
and  as  yet  it  is  all  unmarked  of  commemorative  stone  or 
recording  tablet.  The  lost  camp  had  never  been  photo- 
graphed until  we  brought  our  inquisitive  camera  to  bear 
upon  it. 

I  stoop  and  pluck  from  where  it  nods  behind  the  old 
chimney  a  wild  larkspur,  and  as  I  half-mechanically  count 
its  forty-two  seed-pods,  I  try  hard  to  throw  back  my 
thoughts  to  the  year  1792, — one  hundred  and  sixteen  years. 
It  is  a  far  call !  Canada  is  tardy  in  her  recognition  of  her 
early  builders  of  Empire.  Our  cousins  to  the  south  would 
appear  to  be  more  appreciative.  In  song  and  story  and  by 
a  memorial  World's  Fair  the  people  of  the  United  States 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

have  honoured  the  discoveries  of  Lewis  and  Clark,  but 
Mackenzie  crossed  the  continent  a  full  dozen  years  in  ad- 
vance of  these  explorers. 


The  Site  of  old  Fort  McLeod 

t 

Our  mind  feels  back  across  the  centuries  to  little-known 
Montreal  where,  amid  the  bales  of  peltries  and  the  trading- 
trinkets  of  the  Fur  Company,  a  hidden  voice  is  speaking 
and  a  young  man  listens.  That  young  man  is  Alexander 

352 


FORT  VERMILION  TO  LESSER  SLAVE 

Mackenzie,  a  self-taught  Scot,  a  Canadian  bourgeois.  In 
the  noisy  midday  clatter  of  the  fort  he  hears  the  voice, 
in  the  waking  hours  of  dawn  and  "when  evening  shuts  the 
deed  off,  calls  the  glory  from  the  grey."  He  cannot  get 
away  from  that  haunting  challenge,  he  would  not  if  he 
could.  There  are  interminable  changes  rung  on  the  ever- 
lasting whisper,  but  its  burden  is  ever  the  same. 

"Something  lost  behind  the  Ranges, 
Lost  and  waiting  for  you :     Go !" 

No  more  might  it  satisfy  him  to  out-do  his  competitors 
and  carry  back  to  Grand  Portage  canoes  overflowing  with 
furs.  We  have  seen  how  the  doughty  and  determined  Scot 
followed  to  the  Arctic  the  river  which  now  bears  his  name. 
It  gives  us  the  measure  of  the  man  to  know  that  the 
thought  uppermost  in  the  mind  of  Mackenzie  returning 
from  the  Arctic  was  not  pride  in  the  deed  accomplished 
but  a  realization  of  his  limitations  in  astronomical  knowl- 
edge. He  would  go  back  to  Britain  and  study  stars  for 
a  time  instead  of  skins,  planets  for  peltries.  And  back  he 
went  in  1791.  His  first  achievement  had  but  whetted  his 
ambition.  It  was  of  a  Western  Sea  that  he  had  greatly 
dreamed  among  the  bearskins  and  beavers  of  Montreal, 
and  to  that  ocean  which  split  its  waves  "somewhere"  far 
beyond  the  snow  crests  of  the  Rockies  he  would  go.  With 
this  strong  determination  he  returned  from  Scotland,  made 
toilsome  way  to  Fort  Chipewyan  and  pressed  up  the  Peace 
to  make  the  camp  among  whose  ruins  we  stand.  The 
breaking  of  the  spring  ice  of  1793  sent  him  forth  on  the 
quest  of  that  Northwest  Passage  by  Land. 

353 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

"O  Young  Mariner, 

Down  to  the  harbor  call  your  companions, 
Launch  your  vessel,  and  crowd  your  canvas, 
And,  ere  it  vanishes  over  the  margin, 
After  it.     Follow  it.     Follow  the  Gleam !" 

We  have  not  time  to  recount  the  chapters  of  the  story, 
to  name  the  streams  ascended,  the  boiling  gorges  passed, 
the  discontent  allayed,  the  encouragement  given,  the  lonely 
night-watches  when  the  leader  himself  looked  for  comfort 
to  his  new-found  stars.  The  Eraser  was  discovered, 
traced  for  a  while;  and  then,  striking  westward,  Macken- 
zie heard  the  beat  of  the  surf  upon  the  rocks,  and  came 
out  from  among  the  pines  to  the  silver  Pacific  sparkling 
in  the  sun.  It  was  a  sweet  day  in  summer's  prime,  and 
as  the  gulls  cried  overhead  and  the  sun  mixed  scent  of  sea- 
weed with  balsam  breath  from  in-shore,  we  can  imagine 
but  not  divine  the  feelings  of  that  brave  man  who  had 
thrown  himself  face-downward  on  the  sand  and  from 
whose  presence  the  awed  companions  stole  silently  away. 
We  remember  the  words  of  another  builder  of  Empire, — 

"Anybody  might  have  found  it, 
But  God's  whisper  came  to  me/' 


CHAPTER  XXII 

PEACE  RIVER  CROSSING  TO  LESSER  SLAVE  LAKE 

"A  haze  on  the  far  horizon, 
The  infinite  tender  sky, 
The  ripe,  rich  tint  of  the  cornfields, 
And  the  wild  geese  sailing  high, — 
And  all  over  upland  and  lowland 

The  charm  of  the  goldenrod. 
Some  of  us  call  it  Autumn, 
And  others  call  it  God." 

—W.  H.  Carruth. 

At  Peace  River  Crossing  we  say  good-bye  to  the  Gau- 
dets,  whose  home  is  here.  While  they  have  been  making 
a  little  summer  jaunt  to  Fort  Good  Hope  under  the  Arctic 
Circle  the  garden-seeds  they  sowed  before  they  left  have 
not  been  idle.  Mr.  Gaudet  shows  us  a  pumpkin  which 
weighs  twenty-five  pounds,  a  squash  of  the  same  weight, 
and  citron  melons,  which  weigh  over  ten  pounds  each. 

To  those  who  continue  up  the  Peace  from  here,  three 
great  open  prairies  present  themselves:  the  Spirit  River 
Prairie,  the  Grande  Prairie,  and  the  Pouce  Coupe.  The 
Spirit  River  Prairie  spreads  over  a  thousand  square  miles 
of  splendid  soil,  sandy  loam  on  a  subsoil  of  clay.  Wood 
and  water  are  plentiful,  horses  winter  in  the  open,  and 
crops  here  have  never  been  damaged  by  frost. 

Trending  south  from  the  H.  B.  post  of  Dunvegan,  one 
reaches  the  Grande  Prairie  by  passing  through  the  fertile 
belt  of  Spirit  River.  Grande  Prairie  is  a  loose  term  given 

355 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

to  an  area  of  thirty-five  hundred  square  miles  of  black- 
loam  country.  Settlers  in  this  section  never  feed  their  cat- 
tle longer  than  six  weeks  each  winter. 

The  Pouce  Coupe  would  seem  perhaps  the  most  attrac- 
tive of  all  the  Peace  River  Prairies.  The  natural  vegeta- 
tion on  its  one  thousand  acres  proves  the  soil  exceedingly 
rich.  Pea-vine  and  blue-joint  hide  a  horse  here  in  mid- 


jean  Batise,  the  Pilot  on  the  Peace 

August,  and  berry-vines  show  no  touch  of  frost  at  mid- 
September.  Shrub-grown  knolls  dot  the  rolling  surface, 
while  lakes  and  streams  give  abundant  water.  Through 
three  mountain-passes  the  Chinook  drifts  in,  tempering 
everything  it  touches  and  making  it  possible  for  Indians 
and  pack-train  men  to  winter  their  horses  here  without  any 
trouble  on  the  naturally-cured  grasses.  They  drive  the 
animals  in  at  the  end  of  autumn,  and  the  horses  come  out 

356 


PEACE  RIVER  CROSSING  TO  LESSER  SLAVE 

in  the  spring  hardened  and  fit  for  work.  This  is  a  para- 
dise for  wild  animals.  Rabbits  seek  the  pea-vine,  the 
lynx  and  the  fox  follow  the  rabbits,  and  the  bear  finds  here 
the  berries  that  tickle  his  palate, — blackberries,  strawber- 
ries, cherries,  cranberries,  willow-berries,  and  saskatoons. 
On  September  24th  we  engage  waggons  to  carry  our 
dunnage  a  hundred  miles  south  from  Peace  River  Crossing 


Fort  Dunvegan  on  the  Peace 

to  Lesser  Slave  Lake.  This  stands  out  in  our  memory  as 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  bits  of  the  whole  ten  thousand 
miles  that  we  travelled.  With  the  cool  mornings  and 
evenings  and  the  suggestion  of  frost  in  the  air  it  is  ideal 
walking  and  we  tramp  almost  all  of  the  hundred  miles, 
letting  the  waggons  overtake  us  at  meal-times  and  waiting 
for  them  again  when  it  is  time  to  camp.  The  trail  leads 
us  through  a  rolling,  lightly-wooded  country,  with  many 
streams  and  open  glades.  At  every  lake  and  runway  we 

357 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

flush  ducks  and  wild-fowl,  like  us  bound  south,  and  like  us, 
too,  loath  to  leave  the  golden  fulness  of  this  land.  The 
sun  is  strong,  the  stretch  of  woods  on  each  side  of  the  trail 
is  a  painter's  palette  splotched  with  vivid  golds,  greens, 
crimsons,  and  tawny  russets.  Robins,  little  moose-birds, 
and  saucy  whiskey-jacks  are  fairly  revelling  in  the  berries, 
crowding  close  to  us,  disputing  the  very  berry  we  are  pop- 
ping into  our  mouths.  Spring  lingers  late  in  this  Land 
of  Promise.  Strawberry  blossoms  are  around  us  every- 
where, nestling  amid  the  ripened  fruit,  and  on  September 
25th  in  latitude  56°  N.  I  pluck  a  little  pasque-flower,  one 
beautiful  belated  anemone. 

Next  evening's  tramp  brings  to  view  the  little  settlement 
of  Lesser  Slave,  and  we  sigh  to  realise  ourselves  another 
one  hundred  miles  nearer  civilisation, — the  "civilisation" 
of  Chicago!  A  strong  desire  possesses  us  to  about-face 
and  back  to  the  woods  again. 

It  is  upon  all  the  excitement  of  the  Lesser  Slave  potato- 
harvest  that  we  intrude.  Every  one  is  busy  piling  pota- 
toes in  heaps,  putting  them  into  sacks,  wheel-barrowing 
the  bags  into  winter  storage, — men,  women,  children,  cas- 
socked  priests,  and  nuns  surrounded  by  their  chattering 
flocks.  A  noise  in  the  upper  air  causes  everyone  to  stop 
work.  We  look  up,  to  count  a  flock  of  high-sailing 
cranes  floating  far  to  the  south, — one  hundred  and  fifty- 
three  of  them.  The  observers  make  a  pretty  picture,— 
the  rigid  figures  and  uplifted  faces  of  the  monks,  the  nuns 
with  their  up-kilted  skirts,  the  happy  children.  "It  is  the 
Man  with  the  Hoe,"  I  murmur.  "Yes,"  assents  the  Kid, 
"and  The  Angelas  at  Lesser  Slave." 

We  are  the  guests  at  Hudson's  Bay  House  of  Mr.  and 

358 


PEACE  RIVER  CROSSING  TO  LESSER  SLAVE 

Mrs.  George  Harvey.  Mrs.  Harvey  is  one  of  the  best 
horsewomen  in  the  North,  and  it  is  clear  delight,  with  her 
as  pilot,  to  find  ourselves  once  more  in  the  "horse  latitudes" 
—though,  indeed,  it  is  no  belt  of  calms  where  Mrs.  Harvey 
leads.  The  only  real  accident  of  the  summer  writes  itself 
on  this  page.  The  day  after  our  arrival  we  were  inconti- 
nently spilled  from  a  democrat  and  dragged  half  a  mile 


Fort  St.  John  on  the  Peace 

through  the  muskeg,  being  saved  only  by  Mrs.  Harvey's 
splendid  pluck  and  presence  of  mind.  Climbing  along  the 
pole,  this  cool-nerved  lady  gathered  up  the  lost  lines,  sawed 
the  horses'  mouths,  and  pulled  our  craft  into  the  desired 
haven,  incidentally  in  the  act  making  possible  the  writing 
of  this  "immortal  work" ! 

Things  are  more  on  the  move  here  than  elsewhere  we 
have  been.  Everybody  rides,  from  grandmothers  to  two 
years'  babies,  and  everybody  handles  a  gun.  Duck-shoot- 

359 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

ing  is  at  its  height,  for  the  wild-fowl  linger  to  feed  on 
their  way  south  at  Lesser  Slave  as  they  do  at  Chipewyan. 
Mr.  Harvey  and  his  assistants,  Old  Country  boys,  some 
of  whom  have  seen  service  in  Britain's  foreign  wars,  are 
all  wing-shots,  and  there  is  friendly  rivalry  among  them 
regarding  the  season's  scores.  The  ducks  are  shot  at 


Where  King  Was  Arrested 

dusk.  After  office  hours  we  watch  each  little  group, 
equipped  with  the  latest  capers  in  London  and  Dublin  sport- 
ing-irons, hie  off  to  the  vantage-points  in  the  marshes.  On 
the  walls  of  the  office  each  resultant  bag  is  verified  and 
recorded,  the  figures  being  kept  from  year  to  year.  To 
make  good  at  Lesser  Slave,  if  you  are  a  man  you  must 
ride  well,  shoot  straight,  honour  The  Company,  and  other- 

360 


PEACE  RIVER  CROSSING  TO  LESSER  SLAVE 

wise  play  the  game.     This  is  the  healthy  standard  Mr. 
Harvey  sets  and  follows  himself. 

There  is  much  to  tempt  the  camera  here.  We  see  the 
identical  shack  in  which  Sergeant  Anderson  made  his  ar- 
rest of  the  murderer  King,  and,  driving  along  a  mile  to 
the  garden  of  the  R.  C.  Mission,  we  photograph  giant  cab- 
bages, one  of  which  weighs  full  forty  pounds. 


Alec  Kennedy  with  His  Two  Sons 

By  special  good  luck  we  run  across  Alec  Kennedy, — tall, 
straight,  fifty-seven  or  thereabouts,  with  a  face  that  shows 
the  mixing  of  Scotch  blood  with  Sioux.  On  his  coat  shine 
two  African  Service  medals,  one  granted  him  by  the  Brit- 
ish and  one  by  the  Egyptian  government.  His  grand- 
father was  one  of  those  Selkirk  Scots  who  colonised  the 
Red  River  a  century  ago,  but,  in  Kennedy,  Indian  blood 
far  outweighs  the  white.  He  married  a  full-blood  and  has 
several  splendid-looking  children.  At  the  time  of  Riel's 
first  half-breed  rising,  Kennedy's  services  attracted  the  no- 
25  361 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

tice  of  Sir  Garnet  Wolseley.  When,  in  1844,  Wolseley 
was  detailed  to  lead  an  expedition  for  the  relief  of  Chinese 
Gordon,  then  at  Khartoum,  he  had  to  think  of  the  details  of 
river-transportation,  and  the  flat-boats  of  the  Nile  recalled 
the  Canadian  batteaux  and  Alec  Kennedy.  It  is  a  far  call 
from  the  Lesser  Slave  to  the  Nile,  but  men  who  can  navi- 
gate boats  and  manage  crews  are  rare,  and  the  outcome 
was  that  this  Scots-Sioux, — strong,  silent,  faithful,  was 
ordered  to  collect  a  party  of  Canadian  voyageurs  and  re- 
port to  the  Commander-in-Chief.  Reaching  Egypt,  Ken- 
nedy was  at  once  attached  to  a  young  officer,  Kitchener, 
who,  too,  was  later  to  win  his  spurs.  Round  the  camp- 
fire  we  induce  Alec  Kennedy,  between  puffs  from  a  black 
pipe,  to  tell  in  short  ruminating  sentences  of  the  hansoms 
slurring  over  London  mud,  of  the  yellow  Nile,  of  Africa's 
big  game,  of  the  camel  that  takes  the  place  of  the  moose, 
of  the  swart  Arabs  and  Egyptians.  But  of  his  own  deeds 
of  derring-do  Alec  has  little  to  say.  It  was  of  men  such 
as  Kennedy  that  Kipling  warns,  "Do  not  expect  him  to 
speak,  has  he  not  done  the  deed?" 

Lesser  Slave  holds  many  a  person  with  a  history  behind 
him.  As  a  young  fellow  of  the  H.  B.  Co.  says,  "It's 
beastly  bad  form  to  ask  any  man  who  comes  in  here  any- 
thing about  his  former  history.  If  he  wants  to  be  a  wil- 
ful-missing, that's  his  privilege."  However,  fate  has 
thrown  in  our  way  one  person  whom  we  will  interview, 
bad  form  or  not.  From  Chipewyan  up  the  Peace  we  have 
traced  the  story  of  Louise  the  Wetigo,  taking  down  at 
different  posts,  from  the  lips  of  nineteen  different  people, 
more  or  less  garbled  chapters  of  it.  As  great  good  luck 
will  have  it,  Louise  herself  has  to-day  come  in  to  within 

362 


PEACE  RIVER  CROSSING  TO  LESSER  SLAVE 

six  miles  of  Lesser  Slave.  We  soon  make  connection  with 
her  and  at  the  same  time  with  Archdeacon  and  Mrs.  Scott, 
who  are  closely  identified  with  the  weird  story. 

Stripped  of  the  horrible  details,  these  are  the  related 
facts.  Twenty  years  ago  Louise  was  a  bride  of  seventeen. 
With  her  sister,  aged  eighteen,  their  respective  husbands, 


Cannibal  Louise,  Her  Little  Girl,  and  Miss  Cameron     . 

father,  mother,  sisters,  little  brothers  and  cousins,  en 
famille,  they  pitched  off  from  Little  Red  River  to  make 
winter  camp  in  the  woods.  The  camp  made,  all  the 
younger  men  set  off  to  hunt  meat  for  the  others.  Neither 
moose  nor  caribou  was  seen,  and  on  and  on  they  went. 
They  shot  one  small  beaver  and  ate  it,  and  the  white  earth 
afforded  no  further  food.  Starving  and  hopeless,  they 
stumbled  on,  finally  to  fall  into  a  camp  of  stranger  Indians, 

363 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

who  nursed  them  back  slowly  through  the  winter  to  sane 
strength. 

How  about  their  families,  the  camp  of  waiting  ones 
left  behind  in  the  woods?  With  no  one  to  hunt  for 
them,  gaunt  Famine  held  these  in  her  clutch.  Grandmoth- 
ers' faces  grew  weary,  the  sharpened  eyes  of  the  little 
children  peered  daily  across  the  snow  waiting,  watching, 
for  the  hunters  who  were  to  bring  food.  The  fires  were 
made  in  readiness,  but  no  meat  came  to  those  hanging  ket- 
tles. Old  and  feeble,  young  and  helpless,  alike  became 
weaker  as  they  watched.  One  by  one  they  died.  The 
survivors  ate  of  the  dead  bodies.  At  last,  of  the  nineteen 
souls,  Louise  and  her  sister  alone  lived.  Wild-eyed  and 
starving,  holding  one  old  musket  between  them,  these  two 
sisters  stumbled  off  together  to  try  to  make  Little  Red 
River,  leaving  behind  them  in  the  woods  the  most  awful 
experience  that  two  human  beings  could  share.  At  the 
nightly  camps  each  feared  the  other  and  neither  dared  to 
sleep.  The  third  night  out,  thinking  that  Louise  slept, 
the  sister  levelled  the  gun  at  her  stooping  companion,  but 
Louise  was  watching  through  burnt  holes  in  the  canvas. 
The  next  day  brought  no  food,  and  the  nightly  watch  was 
repeated.  Then  the  sister  died.  How  she  died  God  and 
the  watching  stars  alone  know.  Some  say  that  Louise 
carried  with  her  a  piece  of  her  sister's  flesh  as  food  when 
at  last  she  staggered  into  Red  River.  This  Louise  denies, 
but  admits  freely  the  cannibalism  of  the  winter's  camp. 

Cannibalism !  As  we  use  this  term  we  regret  the  paucity 
of  a  language  which  forces  us,  in  describing  the  extremity 
of  Louise,  to  use  the  same  word  which  we  apply  to  those 
inhuman  monsters  who,  of  their  own  volition,  choose  the 

364 


PEACE  RIVER  CROSSING  TO  LESSER  SLAVE 

flesh  of  man  for  food.  It  is  an  awful  story.  Human  im- 
agination and  sympathy  utterly  fail  to  give  a  conception  of 
the  agony  undergone  by  these  poor  creatures — women  and 
children  with  affections  like  our  own — shut  for  the  greater 
part  of  a  winter  within  that  cruel  camp  of  death! 

Coming  back  to  the  world  of  men  and  women,  Louise 
was  for  years  a  recluse,  shunned  of  all  Indians  as  a 
"Wetigo"  or  "Cannibal."  A  friend  was  raised  up  to  her 
in  the  person  of  Mrs.  Scott,  the  wife  of  Archdeacon  Scott 
who  took  her  in  and  made  her  a  member  of  their  household. 
Years  passed,  and  Louise  married  a  man  whose  Cree  name 
is  The-Man-Who-Looks-Like-Silver.  To  this  marriage  a 
little  child  has  been  born. 

As  we  arrange  the  little  group  for  a  photograph,  the 
mother  tenderly  caresses  the  child  and  the  father  smiles 
kindly  upon  both.  Louise  the  Cannibal !  When  we  look 
on  our  joint  picture,  it  might  be  somewhat  difficult  to  dis- 
tinguish the  writer  from  the  Indian  woman.  She  is  "even 
as  you  and  me." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

LESSER  SLAVE  LAKE  TO  EDMONTON 

"I  hear  the  tread  of  Nations  yet  to  be, 
The  first  low  wash  of  waves  where  soon  shall  roll  a  human  sea." 

Taking  passage  on  the  steamer  Northern  Light,  we  leave 
the  settlement  of  Lesser  Slave  Lake,  this  world-in-small, 


A  Peace  River   Pioneer 


on  the  first  day  of  October,  and,  from  here  to  Athabasca 
Landing,  travel  in  company  with  Mr.  J.  K.  Cornwall,  Pres- 
ident of  the  Northern  Transportation  Company.  Between 


LESSER  SLAVE  LAKE  TO  EDMONTON 

the  time  of  our  journey  and  this  writing,  Mr.  Cornwall 
has  been  returned  as  Member  of  the  Alberta  Legislature 
for  the  district  we  are  now  traversing.  He  certainly 
knows  his  constituency  better  than  most  representatives 
do.  There  is  scarcely  a  mile  of  these  unmapped  ways  that 
he  has  not  tramped  alone ;  not  an  Indian  guide  in  the  North 
can  last  with  "Jim"  for  a  week,  in  summer,  or  on  snow- 
shoes.  When  some  Lesser  Slave  half-breeds  were  told 
that  Mr.  Cornwall  was  going  to  run  for  the  legislature 
against  Allie  Brick,  one  of  them  said,  "Jim  wins.  Allie 
Brick  can't  run.  Not  much  fun  in  that  race.  No  man 
on  Peace  River  can  run  like  Jim." 

Mr.  Cornwall's  pronouncement  on  the  North  Country 
can  be  taken  as  authoritative.  He  says,  "Practically  all 
the  timber  of  any  commercial  value  between  the  Great 
Lakes  and  the  Rocky  Mountains  is  in  these  northern  wa- 
tersheds. This  timber  will  be  a  very  important  factor  in 
the  coming  development  of  Prairie  Canada  to  the  south, 
and  fortunately,  too,  it  is  most  get-at-able.  There  are 
thirty-six  hundred  miles  of  river  and  lake  in  the  North  on 
which  steamers  are  plying  to-day  and  which  are  open  for 
navigation  for  six  months  in  every  year.  The  first  rail- 
way that  comes  in  will  tap  a  system  of  transporation 
equalled  only  on  this  continent  by  the  Mississippi  and  St. 
Lawrence  with  the  Great  Lakes.  The  American  Gov- 
ernment has  spent  two  hundred  million  dollars  on  the  im- 
provement of  Mississippi  navigation,  and  to-day  it  is  not 
as  valuable  a  national  asset  as  the  great  Athabasca-Mac- 
kenzie-Peace system  is  as  it  came  from  the  hand  of  Nature. 
Thirty  thousand  bushels  of  wheat  that  would  grade  'No. 
I  Northern'  was  produced  in  the  Peace  River  Country  this 

367 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

year,  besides  thousands  of  bushels  of  oats  and  barley.  In 
this  Northland  there  are  100,000,000  acres  of  land  fit  for 
the  growing  of  grain." 

Charles  Dickens  used  to  carry  a  note-book  in  his  vest- 
pocket  in  which  he  jotted  down  names  that  tickled  his 
fancy.  Were  Dickens  to  travel  this  route  with  us,  his 
name-note-books  would  bulge.  Where  Lesser  Slave  River 
issues  out  of  Lesser  Slave  Lake,  we  found  Tom  Lilac  in 
earnest  conversation  with  Jilly  Loo-bird.  Jilly  has  navi- 
gated the  North  all  the  way  from  Athabasca  Landing  to 
Hudson's  Hope  on  the  Peace,  seeking  a  wife,  and  still  lacks 
his  connubial  rib.  Being  told  that  ladies  are  on  board, 
he  breathlessly  asks,  "What  colour  ?"  When  he  learns  that 
we  are  white,  Jilly  makes  a  dash  for  some  cache  in  the 
woods  which  takes  the  place  of  clothes-closet,  but  the 
steamer  has  passed  on  before  he  emerges.  Another  lost 
chance,  both  for  Jilly  and  the  writer!  For  two  or  three 
miles  here,  where  the  river  runs  out  of  the  lake,  it  never 
freezes,  and  ducks  and  wild-fowl  remain  here  all  the  win- 
ter in  open  water.  Last  month,  in  this  immediate  vicinity, 
no  fewer  than  one  hundred  moose  were  killed.  Lilac  tells 
us  that  last  winter  there  was  no  snow  here  until  March, 
and  two  winters  ago  absolutely  no  snow  fell  whatever,  so 
that  the  sleighs  were  not  gotten  out  and  all  the  freight- 
ing had  to  be  done  with  waggons.  "No  need  to  starve 
here,"  says  Lilac,  "the  trout  run  up  to  forty  pounds  each. 
There  are  whitensh  and  grayling,  and  I  gather  berries  all 
the  year  round.  In  summer,  I  get  the  red  and  white  cur- 
rants, raspberries,  saskatoons,  blueberries,  gooseberries, 
and  strawberries,  and  all  winter  long  there  are  both  high- 
bush  and  low-bush  cranberries." 


LESSER  SLAVE  LAKE  TO  EDMONTON 


Three   Generations 


369 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Travelling  with  us  are  Judge  Noel  and  Judge  Beck, 
making  the  first  circuit  of  justice  through  this  country. 
Although  they  had  come  all  the  way  from  Edmonton  look- 
ing for  trouble,  so  splendid  has  been  the  surveillance  of 
the  Mounted  Police  here  that  no  one  could  scrape  up  one 
case  for  the  judges  to  try.  The  Peace  River  people  seemed 
somehow  to  think  that  in  greeting  the  judges  with  an 
empty  house  the  settlement  had  failed  to  make  good. 
Some  one  comforts  them  with  setting  forth  as  the  ethics  of 
the  case  the  fact  that  the  judges  should  be  presented  with 
white  gloves  as  the  traditional  sign  of  an  empty  docket. 
Again  is  Peace  River  chagrined,  neither  The  Company 
nor  the  French  Company  has  white  kids  in  stock.  Each 
judge  is  made  the  recipient  of  a  handsome  pair  of  moose- 
skin  gloves,  as  a  substitute,  ornamented  with  beads  and 
quills  of  the  porcupine. 

At  Norris's,  we  leave  the  steamer  and  shoot  the  current 
of  the  swift  Lesser  Slave  River  in  a  cranky  dugout.  The 
Dominion  Government,  with  a  series  of  wing-dams,  is  put- 
ting this  river  to  school,  teaching  it  how  to  make  its  bed 
neatly  and  wash  out  its  own  channel.  Where  the  Lesser 
Slave  River  runs  into  the  Athabasca,  we  change  the  dug- 
out for  a  scow,  and  from  there  to  Athabasca  Landing  float 
down  the  last  stretch  of  our  northern  waterways  of  delight. 
There  is  frost  each  night  now  and  the  deciduous  trees  on 
the  banks  are  a  rich  riot  of  colour.  We  resurrect  from  the 
depths  all  the  warm  clothing  available  and  have  opportu- 
nity of  testing  in  their  own  latitudes  the  lynx-paw  robes, 
moose-skin  hunting-coats,  and  other  spoils  that  we  are 
bringing  out  to  civilisation. 

Every  passenger  who  floats  with  us  enlarges  our  knowl- 

370 


LESSER  SLAVE  LAKE  TO  EDMONTON 

edge  and  enriches  our  vocabulary.  Judge  Noel's  body- 
guard is  a  young  stripling  of  the  Mounted  Police,  born  in 
dear  old  Lunnon.  It  is  always  interesting  to  note  the  dif- 
ferent things  of  which  people  are  proud.  Old  men  boast 
of  their  age  and  young  ones  of  their  youth.  The  fat 
woman  in  the  side-show  is  arrogant  over  her  avoirdupois ; 
the  debutante  glories  in  her  slender  waist;  and  the  globe- 


A   Family  on  the   Lesser   Slave 

trotter  triumphs  in  the  miles  he  has  travelled.  Wyllie 
claimed  distinction  in  never  having  left  Chipewyan.  This 
Mounted  Policeman,  who  stretches  out  on  the  scow,  plumes 
himself  on  two  things:  "I  'old  the  dahnsin'  champion- 
ship of  Edmonton.  I  got  a  gold  watch  lahst  winter  for 
waltzin'."  We  smile  approval,  and  the  constable  contin- 
ues, "I  waltzed— reversing— an  'our-an'-a-'alf !  And—," 
straightening  himself  up,  "I  am  the  best-tattooed  man  in 
the  Province  of  Alberta." 

371 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Rich  is  the  descriptive  language  of  the  North,  and  we 
lie  awake  on  the  scows,  rolled  in  our  blankets,  loath  to  lose 
any  of  it.  "Jim"  is  at  the  sweep.  Many  of  the  men  are 
going  out  from  the  North  for  the  first  time  in  four  or  five 
years.  They  also  seem  too  interested  to  slumber,  and  all 
night  long  the  conversation  goes  on.  A  priest  is  describ- 
ing some  man  who  seems  to  be  hard  to  identify.  "You 
know  him, — the  son  of  the  ole  man  with  the  patch  on  his 
nose  wot  died.  I  christen  him  last  winter."  No  one  is 
more  apt  at  naming  than  these  men.  Two  days  ago,  at  the 


A  One  Night  Stand 

treaty  at  Lesser  Slave,  when  a  smiling  couple  drew  five  dol- 
lars for  a  baby  one  day  old,  a  Cree  bystander  dubbed  the 
baby  "dat  little  meal-ticket."  A  young  girl  who  came  up  to 
claim  her  money  was  nicknamed  "Pee-shoo,"  or  "The 
Lynx,"  because  of  her  bad  temper.  So  we  see  where  all 
the  old  cats  of  the  south  come  from. 

The  scow  glides  on,  and  we  doze,  but  do  not  sleep.  In 
the  dark  she  hits  something  and  bumps  us  wide  awake  to 
hear  the  reassuring,  "This  is  where  Pat  Cunningham's 
horses  were  drownded  last  week."  Under  Jim's  com- 


LESSER  SLAVE  LAKE  TO  EDMONTON 

mand,  everybody  works,  even  learned  judges  from  Edmon- 
ton. He  says,  "Take  another  shot  at  the  oars,  and  then 
you  can  hit  the  feathers."  In  the  morning,  one  half-breed 
fails  to  turn  up  for  meat-su  and  the  comment  is,  "He  feels 
the  feathers  pullinV  "Don't  blime  'im,"  remarks  the  con- 
stable, passing  the  tea,  "only  fools  and  'orses  work." 

"He  reached  out  his  hand  for  a  drink,"  rendered  into 
trans-Athabascan  would  be,  "He  got  his  thievin'  irons  on 
the  joy-juice,"  or  "He  stretched  his  mud-hooks  for  the 
fight-water."  "He  set  him  a-foot  for  his  horse"  means 
"He  stole  his  horse,"  and  from  this  we  derive  all  such 
phrases  as,  "He  set  him  a-foot  for  his  blankets,"  "He  set 
him  a-foot  for  his  furs,"  "He  set  him  a-foot  for  his  wife." 

The  springy  tussocks  of  grass  growing  in  swampy 
places  are  fetes  des  femmes,  a  name  that  pleased  our  fancy 
and  made  us  think  each  time  we  negotiated  them  of  walk- 
ing over  the  swaying  heads  of  women  in  a  crowd.  To  call 
the  tribes  together,  Indians  are  wont  to  send  out  significant 
little  pieces  of  wood.  The  announcement  in  the  society 
columns,  if  the  Indians  had  any,  would  be,  "The  Crees  sent 
out  chips  for  a  crush."  An  Indian  far  down  the  Macken- 
zie had  a  name  that  kings  might  envy.  He  was  known 
among  his  tribe  as  The-Man-Who-Goes-Around-and- 
Helps.  When  a  beardless  and  ardent  missionary  ap- 
proached this  splendid  chief,  wanting  to  "convert"  him  to 
the  Christian  religion,  the  old  man  replied  with  indulgent 
dignity,  "My  son,  for  eighty  years  have  I  served  the  Great 
Spirit  in  my  own  way.  I  fear  I  am  now  too  old  to  change." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

HOMES  AMONG  THE  YELLOW  WHEAT 

"The   stranger  that  sojourneth  with  you   shall  be  unto  you  as 
the  homeborn  among  you,  and  thou  shalt  love  him  as  thyself." 

— Leviticus,  XIX,  34. 

Edmonton    once    more.     Two    Spanish    sailors    ship- 
wrecked and  navigating  the  Pacific  on  a  log,  search  the 


A  Rye  Field  in  Brandon,  Manitoba 

shore  for  a  sign.     Into  what  land  are  they  drifting?     The 
one  at  the  bow  (does  a  log  have  a  bow?)  sees  something 

374 


HOMES  AMONG  THE  YELLOW  WHEAT 

through  the  haze — "Gracias  a  Dios!  Praise  be  to  God,  it 
is  a  Christian  country!  I  see  the  gallows!"  We  too  get 
our  sign.  We  reach  Edmonton  on  Convocation  Day. 

Most  young  countries  for  the  first  ten  years  of  their  lives 
confine  their  energies  to  roads,  bridges,  transportation — 
things  of  the  market-place.  Alberta  has  been  a  full-fledged 
Province  of  Canada  for  barely  three  years,  and,  coming  out 
of  the  wilds,  we  sit  on  the  back  benches  and  see  her  open 
the  doors  of  her  first  Provincial  University.  The  record 
is  unique  and  significant.  On  the  banks  of  the  Saskatche- 
wan rise  the  walls  of  the  new  Parliament  Buildings,  a  re- 
plica in  small  of  Minnesota's  State  Capitol  at  St.  Paul. 
This  new  Province,  carved  out  of  the  heart  of  the  world's 
biggest  wheat-farm,  would  seem  to  hold  within  it  all  the 
elements  that  make  for  national  greatness :  the  richest  soil 
in  the  world,  oil,  timber,  fur,  fish,  great  underlying  coal 
measures,  a  hinterland  which  is  a  very  Pandora's  box  of 
gifts.  Strong,  sane,  young  people  have  the  situation  in 
hand,  each  alert  to  grasp  the  skirts  of  happy  Chance. 
Peace  walks  within  these  western  borders.  What  more 
would  you? 

The  very  first  man  we  hunt  out  in  Edmonton  is  Mr. 
Wyllie  of  Chipewyan.  On  his  promised  visit  to  the  Ork- 
neys the  old  man  had  gotten  as  far  as  Winnipeg,  where 
the  crowds  of  the  modern  city  affrighted  him.  "Miss 
Cameron,  the  men  on  the  streets  were  as  trees  walking, 
and  no  man  stopped  to  ask  how  the  other  was  doing.  If 
that  is  the  world,  I  wanted  to  go  no  farther.  I'm  going 
back  to  Chipewyan,  and  I  will  take  my  family  with  me. 
We  go  home  with  dogs  on  the  first  ice!"  Poor  Wyllie! 
Before  the  bells  rang  out  the  Old  Year,  his  soul  heard  the 

375 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

summons  none  may  disregard,  and  alone  he  went  out  on 
the  Long  Journey. 

What  of  Inspector  Pelletier,  Walker,  Joyce,  and  Con- 
way,  essaying  the  traverse  from  Resolution  to  Hudson 
Bay?  For  weeks  after  coming  out  we  waited  for  news 
of  the  party.  Month  succeeded  month  and  no  word  came 
out  of  the  white  silence.  Hudson  Bay  has  no  daily  mail 
service.  "There  ain't  no  busses  runnin'  from  the  Bank  to 
Mandalay."  It  is  not  until  March  that  the  welcome  word 
comes  that  the  original  party  safely  made  salt  water.  The 
relieved  tension  at  Regina  headquarters  and  the  joy  of 
personal  friends  is  dimmed  by  the  news  of  the  death  of 
Corporal  Donaldson,  who  joined  the  others  at  Chesterfield 
Inlet.  Donaldson,  in  company  with  Corporal  Reeves, 
started  down  Hudson  Bay  in  an  open  boat  and  encountered 
a  herd  of  walruses.  Enraged  and  maddened  at  the  shots  of 
the  men,  one  huge  animal  made  a  charge,  the  boat  was 
upset,  and  Donaldson,  trying  to  make  shore,  was  drowned. 
Reeves  survived. 

It  seems  to  be  a  chapter  of  accidents.  Just  as  this  book 
goes  to  press  we  learn  of  a  double  fatality  which  attended 
the  transport  of  the  1909  outfit  of  Count  von  Hammer  stein. 
This  plucky  developer  of  McMurray  oilfields,  while  run- 
ning Grand  Rapids  on  the  Athabasca  (the  rapids  which 
we  had  descended  in  an  empty  while  the  other  sturgeon- 
heads  were  discharging  freight  at  Grand  Rapids  Island), 
struck  a  boulder.  The  boat  turned  turtle  and  the  three 
men  were  tossed  into  the  torrent, — von  Hamerstein,  V. 
Volksooky,  a  young  Russian,  and  a  French  half-breed, 
La  France.  The  Count  was  washed  ashore  and  escaped, 
but  the  others  were  drowned.  Deaths  such  as  these  are 

376 


HOMES  AMONG  THE  YELLOW  WHEAT 

the  price  of  Empire.  When  the  railroad  reaches  the  Atha- 
basca, the  running  of  these  dangerous  rapids  will  no  longer 
be  necessary. 

In  the  footprints  of  Back  and  Samuel  Hearne,  Alex- 


Charles  M.  Hays,  President  of  the  Grand  Trunk  Railway 

ander  Mackenzie  and  Sir  John  Franklin,  for  six  months 
we  have  been  treading  the  silent  places.  We  have  thought 
much  of  these  faith-possessed  men  who  found  the  roads 
that  others  follow.  In  faith  they  wrought.  Canada  does 
well  to  honour  these  great  of  old,  and  that  she  appreciates 
the  work  of  her  early  explorers  is  shown  in  the  fact  that 
20  377 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

British  Columbia  recently  granted  a  pension  to  the  grand- 
daughter of  Simon  Fraser,  the  man  who  in  1808  first 
sailed  down  the  great  river  that  bears  his  name.  But  the 
day  of  our  great  men  is  not  over ;  Canada  still  in  her  great 
North  and  West  has  Pathfinders  of  Empire.  The  early 


William  Mackenzie,  President  of  the  Canadian  Northern  Railway 

voyageurs  made  their  quest  in  the  dugout  and  the  birch- 
bark;  and  the  tools  of  these  are  rails  of  steel  and  iron 
horses. 

We  are  accustomed  to  look  upon  a  railroad  as  a  cold 
thing  of  dirt  and  sand  and  rock,  ties  and  steel, — a  mechan- 
ical something  associated  with  gradients  and  curves.  But 

378 


HOMES  AMONG  THE  YELLOW  WHEAT 


the  history  of  railroading  in  Canada  is  one  long  romance; 
back  of  each  line  is  its  creative  wizard.     We  are  too  near 
these  men  to  get  their  proper  measure;  the  historian  of 
the  future  will  place  their  names  on  Canada's  bead-roll  :— 
Charles  M.  Hays,  the  forceful  President  of  the  Grand 
Trunk    Pacific; 
Mackenzie  and 
Mann;  William 
Whyte     of     the 
Canadian  Pacific. 
Canada       owes 
much  to   Caledo- 
nia.    Nine-tenths 
of  those  pioneers 
of    pioneers,    the 
trading  adven- 
turers of  the  H. 
B.    C  o  m  p  a  n  y, 
came  from   Scot- 
land, that  grey 
land  where  a  ju- 
dicious     mixture 
of  Scripture  and 

o-u  r*  Donald   D.    Mann,    Vice-president   of   the    Canadian 

Shorter        Cate-  Northern   Railway 

chism,    oatmeal 

and  austerity,  breeds  boys  of  dour  determination  and 
pawky  wit,  boys  who,  whatever  their  shortcomings,  are 
not  wont  to  carry  their  wishbone  where  their  backbone 
ought  to  be.  A  conspicuous  example  of  the  dynamic 
Scottish  Canadian,  hale  at  sixty-six,  is  William  Whyte, 
Vice-President  of  the  Canadian  Pacific  Railway.  At  an 

379 


THE  NEW  NORTH 


, 


age  when  most  men  are  content  to  "drowse  them  close 
by  a  dying  fire/'  William  Whyte  finds  himself  in  com- 
plete charge  of  all  the  affairs  of  the  Canadian  Pacific 
Railway  Company  between  the  Great  Lakes  and  the 
Pacific.  Through  the  positions  of  brakemen,  freight  clerk, 

yard  master, 
conductor,  night 
static  n-a  gent, 
passenger  agent, 
this  man  worked 
on  his  own  pas- 
sage  along 
Fame's  ladder. 
Twenty  years  of 
adolescence  and 
preparation, 
twenty  years 
with  the  Grand 
Trunk,  a  quarter 
of  a  century  with 
the  Canadian 

William    Whyte,    Second    Vice-president    of    the     Pacific,       this    is 
Canadian  Pacific  Railway  William    Whyte's 

record  of  splen- 
did service.  He  has  always  played  the  game  and  he  is 
still  in  the  harness. 

When  people  enquired  of  the  early  Christians,  "What 
do  you  call  your  new  religion?"  they  answered,  "We  call 
it  The  Road."  If  religion  is  the  best  work  of  a  man  made 
visible,  as  I  think  it  is,  then  the  Canadian  Northern  Road 
may  well  stand  for  the  religious  expression  of  the  men 

380 


HOMES  AMONG  THE  YELLOW  WHEAT 

who  made  it.  It  takes  more  than  money,  more  than 
dreams,  more  than  ambition,  for  two  men  in  twelve  years 
to  build,  own,  and  personally  control  five  thousand  miles 
of  railway.  As  Riley  says,  it  takes  sweat.  A  mile  a 
day  for  twelve  years, — this  is  the  construction-record  of 
the  Canadian  Northern.  It  sounds  like  the  story  of  Jo- 
nah's gourd.  In  1896,  nothing.  In  1909,  a  railroad  line 
with  earnings  of  ten  million  dollars  a  year  west  of  Port 


In  the  Wheat  Fields 


Arthur  alone,  and  twelve  thousand  people  on  the  regular 
pay-roll.  Beginning  in  Manitoba  and  operating  in  the 
three  prairie  Provinces,  the  Canadian  Northern  is  pri- 
marily a  western  railway,  its  remarkable  growth  being 
coincident  with  and  closely  related  to  the  tide  of  immigra- 
tion. 

As  a  case  in  point,  on  our  way  south  from  Edmonton 
we  pass  through  the  divisional  point  of  Vermilion  on  the 
Canadian  Northern,  which  is  not  to  be  confounded  with 
our  Far  North  Vermilion-on-the-Peace.  Vermilion  ex- 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

amplifies  wonderfully  the  Go-Fever  and  the  Grow-Fever 
of  the  Prairies.  Before  it  was  three  months  old  its  citi- 
zens had  organised  a  Board  of  Trade,  had  given  it  a 
Methodist  Church,  a  newspaper,  a  bank,  a  public  school, 
three  lumber-yards,  three  hotels,  three  restaurants,  four 
implement  warehouses,  two  hardware  stores,  two  butcher 
shops,  four  real  estate  offices,  a  furniture  store,  a  drug- 
store, a  jewellery  store,  a  steam  laundry,  a  flour  and  feed 
store,  a  shoe-shop,  a  bakery,  and  a  bookshop.  Three  bar- 
bers had  hung  out  their  signs,  and  so  had  two  doctors, 
a  photographer,  a  lawyer,  a  dentist,  and  an  auctioneer. 
There  were  two  pool-rooms  and  a  bowling-alley. 

Farther  south  we  reach  the  town  of  Vonda.  The  Cana- 
dian Northern  reached  this  neighbourhood,  and  the  town- 
site  was  surveyed  in  June,  1905.  That  year  Vonda  shipped 
over  the  line  one  hundred  thousand  bushels  of  wheat,  and 
in  1906  her  exports  were  five  hundred  thousand  bushels. 
The  Canadian  farmer  looks  upon  the  railroad  as  his 
friend;  you  cannot  expect  him  to  use  the  inclusive  con- 
demnation, "Corporations  have  no  souls."  The  main  line 
of  the  Canadian  Northern  runs  from  Port  Arthur  on 
Lake  Superior — where,  by  the  way,  stands  the  world's 
largest  grain  elevator — to  beyond  Edmonton  on  the  North 
Saskatchewan,  operating  in  the  heart  of  one  gigantic 
wheat-farm.  The  method  of  construction  has  been  unique. 
The  owners  commenced  to  build  branch  railways  almost 
before  they  had  a  main  line.  Little  spurs  to  small  ele- 
vators grew  into  long  branches  flanked  with  bigger  ele- 
vators, and  the  elevators  evolved  into  villages,  towns,  and 
cities,  until  to-day  the  result  of  twelve  years'  growth  shows 
a  main  line  of  thirteen  hundred  miles,  with  over  three 

382 


HOMES  AMONG  THE  YELLOW  WHEAT 

thousand  miles  of  branch  railways.  An  orchard  tree  is 
a  good  fruit-bearer  when  the  thick  clustering  branches  are 
more  in  evidence  than  the  long  thin  trunk,  and  the  same 
applies  to  railroads.  But  this  main  line  will  grow,  too. 
Working  out  from  its  wheaten  heart,  its  natural  line  of 
growth  is  east  to  Hudson  Bay,  north  beyond  Edmonton, 
and  west  to  the  Pacific.  Surely  the  tentacles  are  pushing 
out.  Already  the  Alberta  Legislature  has  granted  the 
Canadian  Northern  a  charter  to  Athabasca  Landing,  and 
one  hundred  miles  of  steel  will  here  tap  all  the  lush  land 
watered  by  the  Peace  and  the  Athabasca. 

More  interesting  than  the  line  which  gridirons  the 
wheat-lands  we  are  passing  through,  are  the  men  who  made 
it.  To  try  to  write  the  history  of  Western  Canada's  de- 
velopment and  not  speak  of  Mr.  Mackenzie  and  Mr.  Mann 
would  be  as  difficult  as  Mr.  Dick's  efforts  to  tell  his  story 
without  mentioning  the  unfortunate  Charles  I.  William 
Mackenzie  is  the  Cecil  Rhodes  of  Canada — gentle,  kindly, 
almost  retiring  in  his  manner,  and  with  a  glance  as  in- 
scrutable as  the  sea.  Beginning  as  a  school-teacher,  he 
early  threw  aside  the  ferule  and  the  chalk,  to  get  into  the 
world  of  action.  In  his  time  he  has  built  shacks,  kept  a 
country  store,  and  run  a  saw-mill.  Three  things  come  to 
him  as  priceless  treasure  out  of  the  self-discipline  of  these 
experiences :  a  rare  aptitude  to  see  and  to  focus  the  central 
idea  of  any  proposition,  quick  and  unerring  decision,  and 
the  power  of  ready  calculation.  "I  am  seldom  wrong  in 
a  figure,"  is  one  of  his  few  admissions  about  himself. 
The  President  of  the  Canadian  Northern  travels  without 
a  secretary,  dictates  letters  sparingly,  and  works  in  an 
office  as  bare  of  adornment  as  a  monk's  cell. 

383 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

And  his  working  partner?  Donald  D.  Mann  is  a  man 
of  deeds  rather  than  words.  James  J.  Hill  has  declared 
Mr.  Mann  to  be  the  greatest  railway  builder  in  the  world. 
Mr.  Mann  was  born  in  Ontario  not  far  from  the  sleepy 
town  of  Acton  and  just  six  miles  east  of  Rockwood, 
the  birthplace  of  James  J.  Hill.  These  two  boys  learned 
to  swim  in  the  same  swimming-hole.  One  wonders  from 
what  roadside  spring  they  quaffed  the  draught  which  sent 
them  railroad-building.  Mr.  Mann  thinks  it  a  great  ad- 
vantage to  be  born  a  country  boy,  for  he  says  it  makes  a 
lad  frugal,  strong,  and  resourceful.  It  worked  out  this 
way  in  his  own  case  at  least,  for  there  is  not  a  thing  in 
railroad  building  that  Mr.  Mann  cannot  do  with  his  own 
hands,  from  shoeing  a  mule  to  finding  the  best  pass  in 
the  Rockies  through  which  to  slide  his  iron  horse  down 
to  the  sea.  Direct,  strong,  simple,  he  knows  how  to  con- 
trol himself  and  manage  others.  D.  D.  Mann  is  a  con- 
spicuous example  of  what  a  Canadian  boy  has  managed 
to  accomplish  by  his  own  efforts.  The  beauty  of  this 
Western  Canada  is  that  it  holds  out  opportunities  to  every 
plucky  lad  who  has  initiative  and  who  is  willing  to  work; 
nothing  is  stratified,  the  whole  thing  is  formative. 

While  the  steel  kings  are  letting  the  light  of  day  into 
this  great  granary,  they  are  being  helped  by  a  govern- 
ment representative,  as  democratic  and  direct  as  any  of 
the  pathmakers  whose  visible  work  we  have  been  noticing. 
The  Hon.  Frank  Oliver,  Canada's  Minister  of  the  Interior, 
is  essentially  a  self-made  man.  Before  the  railroad  men 
realised  their  vision  splendid,  young  Mr.  Oliver  and  his 
bride  rode  into  Edmonton  on  an  ox-cart,  with  a  modest 
little  printing-press  tucked  away  among  the  wedding-gifts 

384 


HOMES  AMONG  THE  YELLOW  WHEAT 


and  household  gods.  Oliver  was  a  practical  printer  and 
soon  issued  a  hand-dodger  called  by  courtesy  a  newspa- 
per. The  editing  habit  sticks.  The  Minister  of  the  In- 
terior owns  and  publishes  the  Edmonton  Bulletin.  Mr. 
Mann  says,  "I  like 
building  railroads" ; 
Mr.  Oliver  might 
parody  him  and  say, 
"I  like  building 
newspapers." 

Arrived  at  Winni- 
peg, we  look  back 
across  this  great 
prairie  we  have 
twice  traversed. 
The  land  stands 
ready  to  produce 
bread  for  the  na- 
tions; Nature  has 
done  her  part,  now 
man  must  do  his. 
The  two  greatest 
needs  of  Western 
Canada  to-day  are  Hon-  Frank 
transportation  and 

immigration.  Of  the  one  we  have  spoken;  the  other 
claims  our  interest  even  more  compelling,  for  man  is 
more  vital  than  machinery.  Canada  is  a  country  with  a 
meagre  past,  a  solid  present,  and  an  illimitable  future. 

She,  moreover,  is  the  last  unstaked  Empire  under  a 
white  man's  sky, — where  wilderness  and  man  are  meeting. 

385 


nister  of  the 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

The  flood  of  immigration  hither  is  not  the  outcome  of 
the  temporary  mood  of  mankind  or  of  the  immigration 
policy  of  a  government.  It  is  the  natural  sequence  of  the 
economic  conditions  of  a  continent  seeking  the  outlet  of 
least  resistance  to  a  more  favourable  situation.  The  people 
who  are  coming  in  are  not  dreamers  but  workers.  "The 


Threshing  Grain 

world's  greatest  wheat-farm,"  says  the  economist.  It  is 
more  than  this:  it  is  a  human  crucible,  and  we  are  wit- 
nessing here  the  birth-throes  of  an  entirely  new  nation. 

While  seventy-five  per  cent  of  Canada's  wheat-farmers 
are  either  Canadian,  American,  or  British  born,  and  of 
the  class  that  preserves  the  homogeneity  of  the  race,  every 
country  on  the  map  pays  tribute  to  the  plains.  Austrians 


HOMES  AMONG  THE  YELLOW  WHEAT 

are  here  and  Galicians,  Hungarians  and  Belgians,  Dutch 
and  French  and  Germans,  Italians  and  Polish,  the  Russian 
Doukhobortsi,  Finns  and  Danes  and  Icelanders,  Swedes 
in  thousands  and  stalwart  Norwegians.  South  Africans 
and  West  Indians  are  coming  in  with  Bermudians  and 
Jamaicans  and  the  bearded  Spaniard.  Far  off  on  the 


Doukhobors  Threshing  Flax 

Pacific    Coast,    strangers    are   knocking   at    the    western 
gate, — Chinese,  Japanese,  and  Hindoos. 

There  is  no  Established  Church  in  Canada;  it  is  the 
freest  land  in  the  world.  On  his  one  hundred  and  sixty 
government-given  acres,  the  new  arrival  may  worship  his 
God  in  his  own  way.  The  Greek  Church  in  Winnipeg 
has  a  Bishop  who  one  day  each  year  makes  holy  water 
of  the  Red  River  when  the  Czar  is  performing  the  same 
blessing  on  the  Neva.  Down  in  Southern  Alberta  refugee 

387 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

Mormons  from  Salt  Lake  grow  sugar-beets,  revere  the 
memory  of  Brigham  Young,  and  multiply  after  their  kind. 
Until  within  two  years  ago  the  expatriated  Russian  Douk- 
hobors  maintained  a  commonwealth  of  ten  thousand  souls, 
eschewing  liquors  and  flesh-meats,  making  the  prairie  blos- 
som into  bumper  harvests,  and  holding  all  things  in  com- 
mon. 

Winnipeg  has  three  thousand  Icelanders  who,  every 
August,  take  a  day  off  to  celebrate  the  fact  that  the  Danish 
King,  in  1874,  granted  a  constitution  to  Iceland.  When 
you  ask  them  why  they  came  to  America,  they  say,  "Did 
not  our  Lief  Ericcson  discover  this  continent,  why  should- 
n't we  come?"  The  Icelanders  boast  two  members  in  the 
Manitoba  legislature.  A  Mennonite  is  a  member  of  the 
Parliament  of  Alberta.  The  first  graduate  of  Wesley 
College  in  Winnipeg  to  find  a  place  on  the  staff  of  his 
Alma  Mater  is  also  a  Mennonite.  Winnipeg  has  several 
Roman  Catholic  Polish  lawyers.  Statistics  prove  that  the 
young  Jewish  people  of  Western  Canada  patronise  the 
public  libraries  more  than  any  other  class  or  race.  All 
the  citizens-in-the-making  are  closely  interested  in  politics. 
Recently  there  was  chronicled  the  formation  in  Winnipeg 
of  a  Syrian  Liberal  Club  and  a  Syrian  Conservative  Club. 
Up  in  Edmonton  the  Galicians  (Ruthenians?)  have  just 
organised  a  corps  of  volunteer  militia  to  serve  the  Cana- 
dian country  of  their  adoption. 

The  Americanisation  of  Canada?  During  the  past 
seven  years  over  three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  people 
have  come  to  us  from  the  United  States.  Is  this  American 
invasion  to  be  feared  politically?  Western  Canada  has 
no  more  desirable  citizens  than  those  who  come  to  us 

388 


HOMES  AMONG  THE  YELLOW  WHEAT 

from  the  south.  They  are  not  failures,  but  are  people  who 
have  made  good,  intent  on  making  better.  One  generation 
at  the  most, — sometimes  but  a  few  years, — converts  these 


Sir  William  Van  Home,  First  President  of  the  Canadian  Pacific  Railway 

into  Canadian  voters.  The  troubled  English  brother 
should  remember  that  when  "American"  farmers  in  Can- 
ada pronounce  on  Canadian  matters  they  do  so  constitu- 
tionally at  the  polls  and  as  Canadian  citizens.  As  Cana- 

389 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

dians  we  believe  that  our  national  institutions,  though  far 
from  perfect,  are  in  some  respects  superior  to  those  of  the 
United  States.  We  believe  they  are  at  once  more  elastic, 
more  responsive  to  the  popular  will,  and  more  stable  be- 
cause more  elastic.  The  west  is  gaining  in  political  power 
as  it  gains  in  population  and  prosperity,  and  fortunately 
our  government  machinery  has  been  well  tested  before  it 
is  called  upon  to  feel  the  strain  of  our  rapidly-increasing 
population.  Canada  may  construct  where  older  nations 
must  reconstruct,  and  if  we  borrow  an  American  insti- 
tution or  two,  provided  it  be  a  good  one,  let  no  man  hold 
up  hands  in  holy  horror.  Japan  has  borrowed  nationally 
whenever  she  saw,  lying  around  loose,  something  she  could 
use,  and  Japan  is  as  Japanese  at  heart  as  she  was  in  the 
clays  of  the  Tycoon  and  the  two-sworded  Samurai.  Bel- 
gium to-day,  after  centuries  of  contiguity  and  intercourse, 
is  not  exactly  France;  and  little  Switzerland,  surrounded 
by  the  Powers,  will  be  Switzerland  till  the  last  curtain- 
fall. 

"Is  Canada  loyal  to  England?"  is  a  question  that  some- 
times meets  us.  No,  Canada  is  loyal  to  the  British  Empire 
of  which  she  forms  a  part.  Let  England  see  to  it  that 
she,  too,  is  loyal. 

Canada  has  two  hundred  millions  of  arable  acres  south 
of  the  Saskatchewan.  North  of  this  river,  in  the  pleasant 
valleys  of  the  Peace,  are  one  hundred  million  acres  more. 
If  Canada  were  as  thickly  populated  as  the  British  Isles 
it  would  have  a  billion  people.  The  mind  reels  and  the 
imagination  staggers  in  thinking  of  the  future  of  this 
rich  land.  God  has  intended  this  to  be  the  cradle  of  a 
new  race,  a  race  born  of  the  diverse  entities  now  fusing 

390 


HOMES  AMONG  THE  YELLOW  WHEAT 

in  its  crucible.  Most  of  these  people  in  time  will  inter- 
marry,— Germans  and  Latins,  Celts  and  Slavs,  and  with 
these  the  Semitic  peoples,  in  varying  proportions  and  com- 
binations. Physically,  what  will  be  the  result?  Men- 
tally and  morally,  what  type  will  prevail?  Drawn  by  the 
lure  of  the  wheat,  all  pour  themselves  into  the  melting-pot. 
What  of  the  new  Canadian  who  will  step  out  ? 

In  the  point  of  population,  Canada  begins  the  twentieth 
century  where  the  United  States  began  the  nineteenth. 
The  race  is  ours  to  run.  Wise  the  nation,  as  is  the  indi- 
vidual, who  can  learn  his  lesson  from  a  page  torn  out  of 
his  neighbour's  book,  learn  what  to  follow  and  what  to 
avoid.  Our  fore-elders  who  laid  the  foundations  for  us 
laid  them  four-square.  As  Canadians,  we  owe  a  debt  to 
the  Fathers  of  Confederation  and  their  successors.  In 
the  West,  our  particular  thanks  are  due  to  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company,  the  R.  N.  W.  M.  P.,  and  all  those  factors 
which  established  British  law  "in  the  beginning."  Can- 
ada has  never  seen  a  lynching;  we  have  had  no  Indian 
war;  with  but  one  weak-kneed  exception  there  has  been 
no  attempt  to  hold  up  a  train  within  our  Western  borders. 
This  is  the  inheritance  of  the  people  of  this  generation, 
and  on  this  foundation  we  must  build.  Our  hope  is  in 
the  children. 

On  the  benches  of  one  school-room  in  Edmonton  I  found 
children  who  had  been  born  in  Canada,  the  United  States, 
England,  Scotland,  Russia,  New  Zealand,  Poland,  Switzer- 
land, Australia,  and  Austro-Hungary.  They  were  all 
singing  "The  Maple  Leaf  Forever."  It  is  the  lessons  these 
children  are  to  learn  in  that  little  red  school-house  which 
will  determine  the  future  of  Western  Canada,  and  not  the 

391 


THE  NEW  NORTH 

yearly  tale  of  forty-bushel  wheat.  In  the  past,  nations 
out  of  their  very  fatness  have  decayed.  Many  signs  are 
full  of  hope.  Last  winter  Mrs.  Ray  travelled  alone  with 
dog-sled  all  the  way  from  Hudson  Bay  to  Winnipeg  to 
place  her  children  in  school.  Her  husband  is  a  fur-trader 
and  could  not  leave  his  post.  At  all  hazards  the  bairns 
must  be  educated,  so  the  brave  mother  journeyed  out  with 
them ! 

May  I  close  with  a  purely  personal  note?  At  the  end 
of  a  summer  which  had  showered  us  with  kindness,  I 
was  to  hear  from  the  lips  of  a  Roman  priest  in  St.  Boni- 
face the  most  delightful  tribute  I  have  had  in  my  life. 
We  had  gone  across  the  river  to  see  the  holy  relics  and 
skulls,  the  result  of  the  La  Verendrye  research  carried  on 
by  this  clergy  in  the  Lake  of  the  Woods  country.  I  was 
anxious  to  get  the  story  of  the  recovery  of  these  historic 
remains  and  also  to  secure  photographs.  But  the  Father 
was  obdurate,  for  he  thought  his  Bishop  might  not  approve. 
We  turned  to  go  downstairs  from  the  third  story  of  the 
seminary.  Looking  in  at  an  open  door,  my  eye  was  caught 
by  the  familiar  wording  of  a  blackboard  problem.  "If  16 
men  and  4  boys  working  4  hours  a  day  dig  a  trench  82 
yards  long ."  And  I  halted,  as  the  one-time  circus- 
horse  stops  when  he  hears  the  drum  of  a  passing  band. 

"You  are  interested?"  queried  the  Father. 

"Yes,"  I  acknowledged,  "I  once  taught  school." 

He,  still  in  the  trammels,  looked  the  enquiry  he  did  not 
utter. 

"I  taught  school  for  twenty-five  years,"  I  admitted. 

We  walked  on  down  the  stairs  to  the  next  landing  in 

392 


HOMES  AMONG  THE  YELLOW  WHEAT 

silence,  when  he  turned  to  me  with,  "And  you  taught 
school — for  twen-ty  five  years?" 

I  nodded  my  head,  and  we  went  on.  At  the  next  land- 
ing the  remark  was  repeated.  At  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
he  excused  himself  and  came  back  with  the  photographs 
which  he  presented  to  me  with  an  Old  World  courtesy 
and  dignity.  Grasping  my  hand  in  farewell,  once  more 
the  man  of  God  wondered,  "And  for  twen-ty  five  years 
you  taught  school.  And  you  remain  so — "  He  hesitated 
for  the  word,  and  I  wondered  what  it  would  be.  At  last 
it  came, — the  tribute  of  one  who  expected  to  teach  school 
all  his  life  to  one  who  had  put  in  a  quarter  of  a  century 
at  the  work  and  still  survived, — "You  have  taught  school 
for  twen-ty  five  years,  and  you  remain  so  glad!" 

And  this  is  the  keynote  of  what  the  summer  has  left 
with  us.  As  Canadians,  looking  at  this  Western  Canada 
which  has  arrived  and  thinking  of  the  lands  of  Canada's 
fertile  Northland  far  beyond,  for  the  future  we  are  full 
of  optimism,  and  of  the  present  we  are  glad. 


27 


ROUTES  OF  TRAVEL 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


